


Sleeper Cell

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: The Ghost Network [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Multi, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-04
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 96,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector Eames had several different roles to play in helping the British government. Not all of them were savory, and none of them were entirely safe.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/116716">The Ghost Network</a>. Also incorporates prompt: <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/12989.html?thread=29145789#t29145789">Ariadne and Arthur have to rescue Eames from some debacle he's in.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Impossible Request

Superintendent Mayhew ducked into Inspector Eames' office. The office was a tiny box of space, but folders and papers were strewn everywhere in apparent disarray. Mayhew knew better; he had supervised Eames for years and knew that the man only appeared disorganized on the surface. He was the kind of man that looked at every little detail, so he needed space to shuffle through things. He had been back from the United States for a few months now, and had dove into his work with his usual kind of single-minded intensity. He was working on another serial murder case, scratching notes on a pad as he shuffled through different sheets of paper on his desk. Eames' head was bent over his pad, dark blond hair mussed as he ran his fingers through it as he thought. His tie had been tossed aside somewhere, and the striped shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up. He didn't even look up as Mayhew entered the office.

Mayhew had gotten a bit portly since becoming Superintendent, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He wasn't much in the looks department, but that wasn't how he got ahead at Scotland Yard. He was a quick thinker and a good manager, and he worked well in his little niche. He was starting to go gray at the temples and there were fine wrinkles around his dark eyes; he liked to think it made him look a bit more distinguished and less like he was getting too old. Mayhew cleared his throat, making Eames finally look up. "I need a word, Eames."

"I'd offer a place to sit, but I've no chairs," Eames replied. His pen was poised over the pad. "Don't tell me there's another body."

Mayhew smiled. "No, no, nothing like that, thank God. Apparently, our killer took some time off for hols."

"If only we could," Eames drawled. He didn't want to think of his empty flat or the fact that he was alone. Max was stateside with his wife, and they were expecting a baby in the summer. Yusuf was having the time of his life doing legitimate research and publishing under the auspices of Quantico with Stephen Miles. Some of his old friends still kept in contact, but they all had families and lives outside of work.

He tried not to think of Ariadne. She had made her choice, which stung, and thinking about her just brought out the old hurt.

Mayhew paused, as if searching for the right words to say. Eames sighed. "Out with it. This isn't a social call."

"You're being taken off this case, Eames."

"Bloody hell! I'm close, I know I am. This fucker knows the girls, and I'm pretty sure it's the-"

"Eames," Mayhew said, his firm tone interrupting Eames' protest. "It's not my order."

Eames' lips compressed into a fine line. "Whose is it, then?"

"MI6 is requesting your other skills."

Tossing his pen across his desk in anger, Eames leaned back. "Fuck. Can I say no?"

"You're going to refuse MI6?"

"You said it was a request..."

"They request the way the way I make requests, Eames," Mayhew said sharply. He took in the disarray of the office. "I agree with you, for what it's worth. I'm going to put Mickey and Alan on that. They might have everything tied up by Epiphany."

"Mayhew..."

"It's not my order," Mayhew repeated, turning back to look at Eames. His expression was stony. "They need you to go under."

"The last time..."

"I did bring that up. You nearly died, and I don't fancy losing one of my best Inspectors just because they don't have anyone good to back you up." He took in Eames' surprise and nodded. "They said you can build your own team to do what you need to do. Whoever you want, whatever the cost. They don't care."

"Fuck. It's got to be bad."

"Oh, I'm sure it's worse than whatever you're thinking." At Eames' incredulous look, Mayhew merely smiled grimly. "It's MI6, Eames. When the fuck is it ever good?"

Eames rubbed at his jaw and ran his fingers through his hair. "What am I looking at, here?"

"One of their own went rogue," Mayhew said, handing over a slim folder labeled _Classified._ "This was all they'd give me because of my clearance level. They'd brief you in full once you got on board to work with them."

Cracking open the folder, he glanced at the very brief dossier that Mayhew had read through. It was really skeletal, not much to go on in the slightest. "This says nothing, Mayhew. It's even less than they've given me before. They want me to go after a chemist. Is this a bloody joke?"

"He wasn't just a chemist, I gather," Mayhew told him dryly. "They're giving you until tomorrow to get back to them on this."

"So much time," Eames scoffed. He tossed the folder onto his desk and folded his arms over his chest. Maybe he could refuse the thinly veiled order. It wasn't as if he worked for MI6 any longer, after all. "Why should I? They haven't done me any bleeding favors."

"Let's just say, I got the impression that your life expectancy would drop if you didn't take it," Mayhew told him slowly. "They don't intend to take no for an answer."

"If they're letting me build my own team, they definitely won't take no for an answer," Eames agreed with a sigh.

"You call me if you need to," Mayhew told him in a low tone. "None of that solo hero bullshit that you pulled in Mombasa, got it?"

Eames shot him a weary sigh. "Yeah, well, who will handle all your tough cases if I'm dead?"

"Exactly!" Mayhew agreed with a nod. He left Eames' office, leaving the Inspector to think about MI6's "request." If this was going to be as bad as he thought it was, he was going to pull in as much help as he could get.

***

"Don't even _think_ about coming over here," Eames practically hissed over the phone. He had called his friend Max to see if he knew of anyone in England or Northern Europe that might be willing to play MI6's game. Anyone farther away than that wouldn't be able to get there in time to be briefed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Max told him with a laugh. "I'm off the grid and very happy to stay that way. I still say you should've come with me. It's safer this way, and MI6 wouldn't be able to twist your balls this way." There was more than a trace of seriousness and regret in his tone. "I've said it over hundred thousand times, Eames. You should've walked away when you had the chance seven years ago."

"No, I couldn't have," Eames said with a sigh. "I couldn't just stay hidden and silent. You know me, mate."

Max's sigh was heavy. "I do. Can't know a bloke for ten years without knowing a thing or two about them or their skills, that's for sure." He blew out a breath. "And any word from the Dream Killer? Or do you really think he's left you alone?"

Eames never told Max about the Dream Killer and the Ghost Network mod being one and the same. He never said that he had met Arthur, that Ariadne was still alive, that Eames was keeping silent about the twisted way the two of them had met and gotten together. He didn't know how he could even begin to tell that story, so it was just as well it wasn't his story to tell.

"He's leaving me alone and the case is closed. No reason to shadow me now."

"I still worry about that, Eames," Max said in a low, serious tone. Eames supposed he didn't want his wife to hear him and worry. "Just dump everything and _go._ I'll hook you up, find a place safe for you to start again. It's too dangerous."

It was touching, if unnecessary. "I'm fine. The biggest thing to worry about right now is why MI6 is yanking me from the Yard. I was doing well off their radar, and much happier that way. I prefer the simple serial killings than international logistics."

Max sighed. "So few of the old crowd is left, Eames. Most ran to ground. I don't have anyone to rec you, and honestly, I'd rather you left."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate," Eames drawled. "Fine, then. I'm off to troll the underbelly of London. I'll see what overturning a few logs will do for me."

"Stay safe, Eames." Max sounded worried, which gave Eames pause. "If you need me, just call."

"I will, Max. Really. Thanks."

***

"So is it Daniela, Donna or Diane this time?"

Eames slid into place at the bar beside a bottled redhead. It was a particularly dodgy bar in a dingy part of town, someplace no respectable law officer would be located. He knew enough of the locals to pass as one if he needed to, and he knew this particular woman at the bar.

"Denise, actually," she said, curling her lip at him in annoyance. "I thought you kept track better than that, love." She raked her dark eyes over his frame and turned back to her drink. She was dressed in tight clothes and had a thick leather jacket on, her shoulders hunched a bit. She was thinner than he remembered, her olive skin looking almost sallow. He wondered if he would find needle marks along her arms, and if it would be from smack or somnacin. She glared at him, voice seething with anger. "Why are you here?"

"Are you working?"

"Fuck you."

"I _meant_ in dreams, Denise."

She looked at him with a disbelieving expression. "After that last warning you gave me?"

"You didn't exactly leave me any choice, sweetheart," Eames snapped, his blue eyes flashing with irritation. "I was in intensive care for a week after that stunt you pulled."

"If it was you or me, it sure as hell wasn't going to be me." She turned back to her drink. "I don't do that anymore."

"Shall I check your arms, Denise?"

"Fuck you, Eames."

"I have a job," he said after waiting a beat. "If not you, then who?"

She turned bleary eyes toward him. "Going through the old list, then?"

"I'm cutting to the cream of the crop, if I can."

"I don't dream anymore, Eames," she said tiredly, rubbing at her jaw. "With or without drugs. It burned me out. So I guess you get your revenge after all."

"Denise..."

"Go find Shelley. She'll know who's still in the game. I dropped out after your warning. Seriously, I don't do that shit anymore. I just deal it."

Eames took in the droop of her shoulders. "I'm sorry I had to do that," he murmured.

"Bullshit," she replied, taking a drink. "It's just work, right? Just business. Being a good little soldier and following orders. I get it."

Feeling sorry for her, he pulled out some money and pushed it across the bar at her. It was really only a quirk of fate that landed him on the right side of the law, after all. "I'll talk to Shelley. You take care of yourself, Denise."

She palmed the money but didn't reply. Nodding at her, he left the bar, a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. Denise was definitely out of the game if she thought Shelley was still alive. A lot of the old crowd was gone or dead, and he'd worked to drum a lot of them out of the business. He had few contacts left that he trusted, and a handful of them that he didn't.

He was running out of options. He was going to have to use the Network.

***

To: GNMod  
From: Eames  
Subject: Contact permissions  
I need to contact Yusuf in a way that can't be traced. Can you help me out?

 

To: Eames  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
That depends on what it's about.

 

To: GNMod  
From: Eames  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
You don't need to know what I'm working on, you wanker!

 

To: Eames  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
Of course I do. It's my network.

 

To: GNMod  
From: Eames  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
I need information regarding a chemist, and I'm going to need help getting a team together.

 

To: Eames  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
MI6 finally contacted you, I see. I can give you access to Yusuf via PM. They're watching you closely, so I wouldn't advise even disposable phones for calling him. He shouldn't come to the UK either. You should contact Ariadne. She misses you.

 

To: GNMod  
From: Eames  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you know too much about what's going on.

 

To: Eames  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
I'm supposed to know what's happening, remember? Contact Ariadne. She misses you.

 

To: GNMod  
From: Eames  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
Leave it alone and stay out of my business.

 

To: Eames  
From: GNMod  
Subject: Re: Contact permissions  
You upset her. That makes it my business. Contact her.

 

Eames stared at the latest message on his computer screen. He hadn't wanted to go this route, but he wanted Yusuf's expertise without endangering him or letting anyone at MI6 know about him. Yusuf had a good deal going with the FBI, and Eames wasn't about to ruin it for him. It was really the only way he could protect Yusuf that he could think of. It was all right if anyone else knew they were friends, but it would kill Eames to know that he dragged Yusuf down that path.

It was why he had never told anyone about Ariadne's ability to know when she was under without a totem. He knew that some of the assholes he had worked with at MI6 would get wind of it and interrogate her about that ability, looking for a way to train others. He hadn't wanted her involved, because the dream agents for the MI6 were even more ruthless than Cobb had been in getting what they wanted.

No regulation, no crime, no liability.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. This was exactly the problem that had sucked Ariadne into Arthur's twisted world, making her feel on some level that she _had_ to dispense justice personally to those that abused their positions of power with helpless sleepers.

Eames probably wasn't that much better than those lowlifes right about now.

 

To: Queen  
From: Eames  
Subject: hi  
I'm sorry it's taken me this long to contact you. Are you all right?

 

To: Eames  
From: Queen  
Subject: Re: hi  
I missed you! I've followed the news as best as I could to see how you were doing. I guess you were really busy with work. I remember what that's like. :)

I've been keeping busy, learning more about dream sharing in other countries. Not all of it is strictly legal, of course, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Some of my old interest in art and history has been coming in handy, though. Apparently my ability to build things in dreams comes from that, and I've been learning more about being an architect. It's been really amazing, and a great excuse to look into theory and application of art and architecture. :)

 

To: Queen  
From: Eames  
Subject: Re: hi  
I'm glad you're doing all right, Ariadne. I'll admit it... I've been worried for a long time.

 

Eames wasn't entirely surprised to have his phone ring not long after he sent the message. He supposed they were online, considering how rapidly the responses had come in. "Hullo," he said, not recognizing the number on his cell phone.

"Eames," Ariadne said, and he felt a distinct ache hearing her voice again. "Don't worry, it's impossible to trace this."

"That'll send up flags."

"Arthur's grumbling, but he'll manage to delete them. Won't you?" she asked, voice clearly directed at Arthur next to her. Eames couldn't quite hear his reply. "Well, he will."

Eames had to laugh at the sound of Arthur grumbling next to Ariadne. "Glad to know that you're still you."

"Well, yes," she said, and it sounded as though she plopped herself into a seat. "Learning new things all the time, figuring out how to make things better." Eames could almost imagine her eager expression based on the smile in her voice. "I'm actually really good at this. The building I used to do is _nothing_ compared to what I can do now. It's amazing. It's pure creation."

"I'm glad you like it, darling," he said, voice warm and sincere. He had missed her something fierce, and hearing her this way brought it all back.

Ariadne let out a sigh. "Arthur's making his unhappy face. You're going to do something dangerous, aren't you?" she asked.

It was bizarre, that she would talk about Arthur to him as if they were an ordinary couple. Eames was still fairly convinced that Arthur had twisted and warped her mind somehow, drawing on her past history of abuse to reel her in. He couldn't prove it and couldn't even talk about it; Ariadne loved him and had given up her entire life to be with him.

To be honest, he was jealous of that kind of devotion. He'd never been on the receiving end of it.

"Eames," Ariadne said in a wheedling tone. "You can tell me what it is, can't you? It's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

"You'd tell Arthur, and he already knows more than he should," Eames replied grumpily. "How _does_ he know about all that?"

Ariadne laughed. "Some of it is the Network, some of it is from his real life job. There's no mystery to it." She sobered and let out a sigh. "Really, though... Can I help? I'd like to if I can."

"Best you stay out of it, Ariadne," Eames told her. "It's not pleasant stuff, and it's probably going to be dangerous. Bad enough I'm still on the radar."

He could imagine her chewing on a thumbnail in thought or biting her lip. It was that long, thinking kind of pause that she always used to make, processing information before coming to a conclusion. "So you really can't contact anyone you used to know?"

"That's why I contacted Arthur," he admitted. "I don't want anything getting back to anyone I know that I want to keep out of the business. Mainly Yusuf at this point. I talked to one or two people I used to know, but they're either out of the business or dead."

"You're going to need a team," Ariadne began, and he could hear the excitement in her voice.

"You don't even know what this is about. It's definitely on the wrong side of legal and it's certainly not safe."

He could almost hear her pouting through the phone. "I'm trained for this kind of thing."

"Not quite," Eames demurred. "You were with an agency willing to keep you around, and Saito tried hard to move heaven and earth to find you. These people that I'll be working for don't give a shit. They hung me out to dry once, and they'll probably do it again. I don't want you involved."

"Then why are you working for them?" Ariadne asked quietly.

"I don't have a choice and I can't just disappear."

"I'm sorry, Eames," Ariadne murmured.

"Yeah. Me, too."

***

Thanks to the access through the Ghost Network, Eames was able to contact Yusuf easily. He understood Eames' reluctance to contact him over the phone, and wasn't willing to compromise his current stable position. Yusuf had known Shelley through the Network, and had offered up her name as a UK-based point man. _Hate to break it to you,_ Eames had to write back in response, _but she's dead. I shot her in the head myself four years ago._

 _Not possible,_ was Yusuf's reply. _Unless someone else got her access codes? She posted something on a UK board a month ago. I can get you the link if you want._

Eames stared at the screen in shock. If someone else had seamlessly moved into Shelley's life four years ago, his odds of surviving this particular mission just improved.

 _Get me the link and find out if I can contact her by a safe channel. I'm being watched, so the Network might be the only way to do that._

 _Be careful, my friend,_ Yusuf wrote. _I'm looking into some of what you told me about, and it doesn't look good._

The worst part of it was, Eames had barely told Yusuf anything.

A new message showed up in the Network inbox. Eames clicked on the icon and frowned when he saw it was a message from Arthur. With some trepidation, Eames opened the message to see what it had to say.

Arthur was going to try a system wide private chat feature to the message boards, which would use the same kind of encryption as the PM system and the main forum areas. It should make contacting others easier than constantly refreshing the inbox page for conversations. It was an opt-in feature, and Eames immediately clicked the link that would allow him to make use of that feature.

He didn't want to be grateful to the bastard, but it was probably going to be very useful in his immediate future.

***  
***


	2. Careful What You Wish For

Eames and Max skittered to a stop in an alleyway that was barely visible behind piles of garbage. Catching his breath, Eames leaned his head against the wall. "We're going to have to split up, mate," he told Max between heaving breaths.

Max eyed the way they came. "But Calliope..."

"If we get caught, what she did means nothing," Eames insisted. He reached out and squeezed Max's arm in support. "I'll try to find you, make the bastards pay, something. I just... We're going to get caught. We'll never make it out of here if we don't split up."

"Yeah. I can hide better than you 'round these parts," Max replied reluctantly, referring to Eames' skin tone.

"Pasty white sticks out," Eames agreed. "If you're the only one that survives this..."

"Shut up," Max interrupted. "We're getting out of here."

They parted, and Eames waited until he was in another dingy alley before throwing up. _God, Calliope, I'm so sorry..._

Eames shot awake in bed, still able to taste acrid bile on his tongue and feel the gritty brick beneath his hands as he leaned against a wall to throw up. It had been years ago in Mombasa, but sometimes he still couldn't shake the memory. Sometimes he hated the fact that he could still dream, that he'd never lost that ability. Chest heaving, he glanced at the clock on his dresser. Four thirty-seven am. He knew he wasn't going to get back to sleep like this, not with the adrenaline still coursing through him and regret on his mind.

He padded to his kitchen, feeling tired and slow. The smell of coffee brewing didn't perk him up, and he still wanted to throw something and hear it shatter. He knew exactly why he was feeling this way, too.

He was meeting his contact with MI6 today.

He had a feeling the entire mission was going to be a clusterfuck. The rogue agent was Chester Milton, who had worked as a chemist for their dream teams. He did a lot of classified work for MI6 in the field, usually as a sharpshooter, to back up teams sent out. He was known to be an excellent shot, often hard to track, and there was concern from his superiors that he wasn't as invested in shutting down sleeper cells in Kenya. He had seemed like the perfect company man until he had disappeared four months ago, his apartment and bank accounts cleaned out completely. His neighbors had said that he had quietly gotten rid of possessions for several months before that, so that it had been easy for him to simply empty his apartment and leave. Eames' contact would be Milton's partner at MI6, a weapons expert named Bertram Mailand.

The problem was, Eames knew Mailand, and had never gotten along with him before. The man was an insufferable asshole that thought he knew it all, and had always needled Eames to no end. He had constantly picked on Eames' spelling and maths, as if that mattered one bit when a gun was pressed against his head. They had parted ways seven years ago, and Eames had hoped never to meet Mailand again.

So much for wishing.

He checked his phone for the time and stared blearily at the fact that he had three text messages waiting for him. One was from Ariadne, and he checked that one first. _Call when you can. Good to hear from you!_ Smiling, he checked the other two. Yusuf told him to check his PM folder and the other had no sender.

 _Do you remember how things fell apart the last time?_

For a moment, Eames forgot how to breathe. His heart must have stopped. _Fuck._ Just one more reason why getting involved with MI6 was a bad idea. But this wasn't his choice, and he had no other options this time. He was going in with his eyes wide open, but he knew he would be left on his own again.

Eames went through the motions meeting up with Mailand at Vauxhall Cross, sounding as if he had his head in the game. Eames was given clearance to get further information regarding Milton and all the work he had been doing prior to his disappearance. One theory was that Milton had been taken, and whoever had done it was trying to make it look as though he ran. The most likely explanation was that he went rogue, though Mailand had no idea why he would do it. Eames collected all the documents regarding Milton's caseload without comment. He still needed to get a team together. Mailand couldn't come with him, thank God, but Eames had no backup. He wasn't going to drag Max into it again or disrupt Yusuf. Hopefully there was information in his PM folder on the Ghost Network that could get him started. Mailand and MI6 weren't going to wait around forever for him to get his act together.

Milton had been working on his own variant of somnacin, which wasn't very surprising. Just by talking to Yusuf, Eames supposed that every good chemist looked down on the original formula. Eames had poked around Milton's office, but it had been painfully bare and already picked clean by MI6 staff anyway. He tried poking at the man's computer, but it was clean as well. MI6 probably knew about the Ghost Network, and Milton wasn't stupid enough to allow automatic logins on his work computer. Milton had set his computer to wipe its history and cookies with every shutdown, and there were no key loggers or tracer programs on his machine. He had been in contact with a local chemist regarding raw materials to eventually build his compounds, but there were no notes left regarding what he had intended to purchase. Mailand had intimated that Milton was being consulted on three cases, but of course Milton hadn't kept any notes in his office. The files that Mailand had given him were calling on Milton's expertise as a chemist to analyze trace compounds found at various crime scenes, some of which had been perpetrated by an MI6 agent requesting Milton's help.

Sighing, Eames put his feet up on Milton's desk and leaned back in his chair. One consultation case had also asked Milton's advice regarding coated bullets. It seemed like an odd request at first, but Eames remembered Mailand's comments regarding Milton's sharp shooting. Mailand was a crack shot himself, so a favorable comment from the bastard had to mean that Milton was _good._

He blew out a breath and let his eyes wander around the room. It was nondescript, no sense of Milton as a person. Mailand would never have understood why Eames would need to know what Milton was like. He saw things in black and white, and didn't believe that he had to bother with shades of gray. Eames knew that the majority of the world operated in the shades of gray, particularly MI6 agents. It was why Mailand didn't get along with too many agents, and why he happily treated everyone else like shit. Part of the reason Eames was good at his job was that he observed things about people, understood what made them tick. He couldn't have grifter skills and forging abilities in the dreamscape unless he understood interpersonal nuance.

He was staring at the ceiling for so long that his vision blurred a bit. Blinking, Eames frowned and stared at the tile that had sent his eyes crossing. The drop ceiling was pristine, but one tile in the corner had a chip in it. It was easy to miss, but in the low afternoon light, shadows made the chip seem larger than it was. Eames got up and dragged the chair underneath the ceiling. He popped the tile up and into the drop ceiling easily, then gingerly slid his hand into the hole.

Inside a plastic baggie was a vial of clear yellow liquid and a flash drive.

Eames tucked the baggie into his jacket and carefully replaced the tile. Milton just got a whole lot more interesting.

***

From: Lookout  
To: Eames  
Subject: Shelley  
Same girl, same username of RedKodiak. I sent a few feelers out on your behalf, so they'll reply to me rather than face a brick wall when trying to ping you directly. Shelley had a few choice words to say about you, btw. You might want to apologize first. ;)

 

It didn't take long for Eames to get permission to message RedKodiak; Arthur actually gave him permission to reply to whatever PM's he received from others. He wasn't allowed to seek out or start conversations without Arthur's intervention to unlock his account. It was a pain in the ass, as was Arthur's closing message to be careful who he picked to go under.

As if he didn't know that already.

 

Eames: Shell?  
RedKodiak: You have some nerve, asshole.  
Eames: I'm sorry, Shell. They were closing in on you.  
RedKodiak: And?  
Eames: I stalled them as long as I could.  
Eames: I didn't want to, and they didn't buy the jerk I threw in their direction.  
Eames: Shell?  
RedKodiak: I knew you were coming that day.  
Eames: What?  
RedKodiak: You shot me, but not IRL.  
Eames: WHAT?!  
RedKodiak: Surprise, motherfucker.  
Eames: Shell, WTF?  
RedKodiak: I knew you were stalling. I had other guys in the field, remember? I KNEW you were coming that day.  
Eames: You treated me like a subject??  
RedKodiak: You didn't give me much choice, did you? It was that or kill you. Luckily for you, I kinda liked you back then.  
Eames: ....  
Eames: And now?  
RedKodiak: ....  
RedKodiak: I'm not sure.  
RedKodiak: ....  
RedKodiak: Lookout says you're a solid and you're being dragged into deep shit.  
Eames: I don't want him involved, Shell.  
Eames: I just need recs for a team.  
RedKodiak: Depends on who you're working for now.  
Eames: Payroll says Yard, but my strings are being yanked outside of the Yard for this one. MI6  
RedKodiak: You better be joking on that.  
Eames: I'm using the fucking GN. DO YOU THINK I'M JOKING???  
RedKodiak: ....  
RedKodiak: I guess not.  
RedKodiak: Fuck, Eames. They'll kill you.  
Eames: I know.  
Eames: I can't say no, tho.  
RedKodiak: Why the fuck not? You can wind up the Yard, but not them.  
Eames: Life expectancy = 0 then, that's why. I rather like breathing.  
RedKodiak: You do look awfully good doing that.  
Eames: ....  
Eames: I really am sorry, Shell. I tried to make it quick. I wanted to be merciful.  
RedKodiak: I know. My guys in the field told me what you were up to. I knew you'd have to pass a polygraph, since Jack knew we were fucking.  
Eames: I believed I killed you, Shell.  
RedKodiak: Well, Shelley's dead now.  
Eames: Some on the street still throw your name around. Mostly players I had to force out of the game four years ago.  
RedKodiak: Makes it hard to find a team willing to go up for MI6, doesn't it?  
Eames: Definitely.  
RedKodiak: What's the payout?  
Eames: Whatever I want it to be. I've been given carte blanche for a team and payouts.  
RedKodiak: Fuck. What's the job?  
Eames: Rogue agent location.  
RedKodiak: Funny, Eames.  
Eames: I'm bloody serious.  
RedKodiak: You know that's not all they want.  
Eames: Pretty sure, yeah.  
Eames: Nothing official, of course.  
RedKodiak: Of course. So you need a full team, really. I wouldn't trust ANYONE they rec.  
Eames: Pretty much.  
Eames: The few I'd trust I don't want to bring into this.  
RedKodiak: Well, isn't that lovely about me, then?  
Eames: I'm not bringing you into it, Shell. I'm asking for recs.  
Eames: I don't want you in this. Don't even think it.  
RedKodiak: Most players out there won't want to work with you. Just letting you know. You burned too many bridges four years ago. The lure of being legit means NOTHING to this crowd, you know.  
Eames: You fence and connect, Shell. Don't even think it.  
RedKodiak: Times change.  
RedKodiak: Tell me who it is. If it's a rogue, odds are there were feelers sent out ahead of time.  
Eames: christ, Shell...  
RedKodiak: You give a little before you get. You know how it is.  
Eames: Isn't it enough to know it's MI6?  
RedKodiak: No.  
RedKodiak: You'd be surprised, Eames. You really would.  
Eames: Milton. Chemist. Disappeared 4 months ago, suspected rogue. Sharpshooter also.  
RedKodiak: I'll need to get back to you on this.  
RedKodiak: I'm going to tell Eden and Pascal to write you. DO NOT PISS THEM OFF. You'll need them and i swear to fucking God if you ruin this for them I will hunt you down and kill you.  
Eames: ???  
RedKodiak: I'll need to meet you, too. Where's a safe location?  
Eames: Probably doesn't exist.  
RedKodiak: Punk.  
Eames: Would you rather a tail see you?  
RedKodiak: It'll be like old times. :D  
Eames: Kinky bitch.  
RedKodiak: You miss me.  
Eames: There's no one else in the world like you, Shell.  
RedKodiak: Good answer.  
RedKodiak: I'm sending you coords by PM. Don't be late, don't stand me up and lose the tail before you get there. You're going to need help to do this right. You can't fuck with MI6 and expect to live.  
Eames: That's why I don't want you involved. I don't.  
RedKodiak: I cheated death twice now. Let's go for a third time, shall we?  
Eames: Shell...  
RedKodiak: You're not asking me, Eames. I'm telling you. Meet me there. Don't be late. Don't fuck up.  
>>>Session terminated.

 

Eames stared at his screen with hollow eyes. Fuck. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to massage his temples. Shelley Baker had been a very unassuming kind of girl to look at her. She had long brown hair, brown eyes and was just a shade darker than pale. Her mother had been half Indonesian and connected to one of the triads in Hong Kong. While Shelley's father had been a perfectly legitimate lawyer, he had been killed when she was young. Shelley had wound up getting involved in the triad, then with other underworld figures fencing items and connecting dream sharing users for extraction jobs or pointing the way to illegal sleep labs. Eames didn't know what led to the first time she had to fake her death, but they were friends and had an on-again, off-again thing going around the time he had been commissioned to start eliminating the underground. His superior officer at the time, Jack Burlington, had known about Shelley. Eames had put off turning her in, citing her contacts and links as the way he was going about his job. Shelley was right, though; if she hadn't faked her death in the manner that she had, he would have ultimately had to kill her for real.

He called up the meeting place that Shelley had picked. It was a tiny dive of a place in an area of town that he wasn't entirely familiar with.

For the thousandth time since Mayhew had spoken to him four days ago, Eames wondered who he had pissed off to be put into this position.

***

"Here. Have a coffee," came a feminine voice. Eames looked up from where he was sitting in a corner of the bistro. He was easily seen from the door, but hadn't bothered to look at whoever was coming in. The woman standing over him was tall and slightly pudgy around the middle, wearing a puffy vest and thick hooded sweater over denims and combat boots. The hood was pulled up and she was wearing purple tinted glasses. "Two sugars and cream, yes?"

Eames let his lips curl into a smile at the familiar accented voice. "My favorite Southern girl in London. Good memory."

"I still take mine black," Shelley said, sliding into the seat across from Eames, her own coffee cup in hand. She watched Eames stir the coffee before taking a sip. "How do you know I didn't poison it?"

"You were always more direct than that. I'd expect a bullet in the brain more than strychnine in my coffee."

"True," she allowed with a nod. "That part hasn't changed." She smiled, her warm brown eyes crinkling slightly in amusement. "It's good to see you, Eames. Even if you are a selfish fucker."

"Ah, the dulcet tones of a Southern belle," Eames snarked back at her. "Really, Shell, I don't want you involved."

"I know. But you won't get the others without me. You need me, and you need my connections. We've had to go even farther underground in the UK after what happened four years ago. The sleep labs are probably the farthest up that the players go. You're going to need the ghosts in the system for this one, the ones that don't exist anymore."

"I saw Denise on Tuesday."

"I know. She talks too much."

"I thought she was just out of the loop."

Shelley smiled. "She's one of the more visible dealers, Eames. She knows where to go and who to go to, but she'd never help you now."

"Why are you?"

Shelley shrugged and swallowed half of her coffee in one gulp. "I think it'll be nice for MI6 to owe me one for a change. I know Eden would want the money, and Pascal likes the idea of the hunt. He's fucking insane that way. He'd be the shooter, if you couldn't tell. Eden can make networks sit up and do her bidding. It's freakin' scary what she can make things do, and she's always looking for new toys. Computers like that cost money, and she constantly has to dispose of 'em when things get too hot."

"She ever crack the Network?" Eames asked in arch tones.

"Nope. No one can do that. But she did catch a location of one of its nodes, which was more than good enough for me."

"Really? Where was it?"

"Buried inside a Swiss bank," Shelley said, laughing. "Fucker's good, I got to say that. It's a secure place, and nobody can hack it. Believe you me, everyone and their motherfucking uncle has tried."

"I'm going to need more than just the two of them."

"They're to start with, Eames. If they roll with this, then I can rope in another one or two that might think the danger's worth it."

"Such as?"

"I have a field chemist wanting to pad his resume, and a for-hire itching to get back out in the field. Hates Pascal's guts, too, so they're constantly trying to swagger and show me who's got the bigger dick. I like playing them off each other. More kills to the game that way," she said with a tinkling little laugh.

"Same old Shell," Eames replied, shaking his head fondly.

"You're going to want the body count on this, if it's as bad as I think it is."

Eames looked up at Shelley. "What do you know?"

"Milton was on the Network, of course. On chemist boards and shooter boards. Fucker was prolific, too. I troll, mostly. But he was all over the damn place, like he was constantly online. Going back over his posts, he was messing around with the soma, tweaking its attributes. Higher order chemist shit I have no idea about, but my chemist says it's fucking crazy what he was doing. You got a chemist friend to look over the notes, more power to you. I told mine to shut the fuck up since it was giving me a headache. The shooter boards had nothing but posturing, but he wasn't lying on any post. I checked facts and all his bravado is earned."

"So if he went rogue, he could gun us down himself."

"Basically."

Eames gave her a wry smile. "When they fuck up, they fuck up _badly."_

"I did get a hit with the Kenya angle you _didn't_ mention to me, by the way," Shelley said, leaning back in her chair. She unzipped her puffy jacket and slid a flash drive across the table at him. "This is from Eden, and it's clean. You can use it on your personal computer. If you get anything from anyone else, get a fresh one. Your place is wired up to hell and back."

"I figured," Eames said with a sigh. He pocketed the flash drive, keeping it next to the plastic baggie he had gotten from Milton's office. He was waiting for Yusuf to get back to him regarding the contents of the drive, and wasn't about to leave it out of his sight until then. He noticed two people detaching themselves from the wall and heading to their table. "Friends of yours?" he asked, nodding in their direction.

"Play your cards right and they'll be friends of yours, too," Shelley replied evenly.

The woman was of middle height, with dark hair long and loose around her pale face. She was in a thick winter's coat and big black boots with a dozen silver buckles on them. She had dark eye makeup and pale lips, sitting down beside Shelley across from Eames. The man was blond with green eyes, his hair cropped close to his skull. He had a black flame tattoo along his left temple and a thick, jagged scar in front of his left ear that curled below his jaw and disappeared beneath his gray turtleneck sweater. His own winter jacket was thin but insulated well, and his soulless eyes took in Eames for a moment before he sat down beside him. "Eden and Pascal, I assume?" Eames asked.

Eden nodded. "You have a job," she said, her voice without inflection. She could have been talking about the weather for all anyone would know.

"Getting the location of a rogue agent, officially. Unofficially? Making sure he and whatever cell he's affiliated with doesn't come back to haunt the government's nightmares."

Pascal smiled thinly, his mouth a grim slash across his face. "I can work with this."

"I have some preliminaries on the drive," Eden told Eames. "What's the payout?"

"Whatever you want it to be, paid up front."

"Cash or unmarked account?" she asked, eyes flicking between Eames and Shelley.

"I'll take the cash," Pascal added. "I can loop in Gray, if you like."

"He's fucking insane," Shelley protested.

"Better him than swinging Henri in front of me again. I know your game, Shelley, and I'm sick of it. If you want a second shooter, you let me loop in Gray."

Shelley sighed. "I hate Gray. I'd rather deal with Henri."

"You deal with him, you lose me," Pascal said with a shrug. "You know I'm better than Henri anyway, or you would talk to him first."

Eames looked at Eden, who was sitting stiffly in her chair. "What payment do you prefer?" he asked, leaving Shelley and Pascal to argue about how many shooters they would need.

"I want three million euros in an unmarked account before we leave the country. I'll shift the funds out and then head on the plane. You'll need someone good on your side, Mr. Eames." She smiled thinly. "Your target's not stupid, and he has some very scary and very powerful friends."

"Information's on the drive?" he asked. She nodded curtly. "I'll get you the money."

"I told you he'd be good for it," Shelley told Eden, interrupting her own conversation with Pascal. She turned back to the tattooed shooter. "Here's my compromise: Gray and Foster."

"I can deal with Foster," Pascal agreed.

"So what's the team looking like?" Eames asked, looking at Shelley.

"One forger, one point man, one hacker, two shooters, one architect, one arms dealer and one field chemist."

"We might be able to survive this, then," Eames said with a smile.

"Check the drive before you come to that conclusion," Eden intoned, standing. "I think we're evenly matched."

Eames watched her leave the cafe. "Cheerful girl."

"You want her brains, not her personality. Not your type, anyway," Shelley told him sweetly. She laughed when he rolled his eyes at her and shook his head. "I'll contact the others, you get Gray," she said to Pascal. "Usual channels by tomorrow. The Crown wants to move fast on this, I assume," she directed to Eames.

"I've been told in no uncertain terms that I'm slower than molasses," Eames replied.

"Tomorrow, Pascal," she said in brisk tones. "Eden and I are good to go, and I know our chemist is. Foster should be able to move by tomorrow or the day after."

"Gray will be ready whenever we're good to go," Pascal said stiffly. "He's between jobs at the moment. He needs it."

Shelley nodded and watched him get up to leave. "I'll send you the payment list via the Network tonight. I'll redistribute for everyone else, since Eden already asked for her fee."

"Stiff price, don't you think?" he asked in arch tones.

"She's good and it's not your money. Shut the fuck up."

Eames held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just a question."

"She's come the closest to cracking the Ghost Network, blew open InGen and she's the one that was behind InteLiv losing its bid to make generic somnacin. InteLiv bit us in the ass pretty damn hard, so it was only fair that the bastards lose out on _their_ big score."

"You're just as vicious as I remember, Shelley."

Her smile was wicked. "Yes, indeed."

"Fine, she's worth three million euros, then. What kind of damage will I be asking for, then?"

"Let's just say that remaining under the radar in multiple countries doesn't come cheap. I'm pretty sure no one else is going to be as expensive as Eden, though."

"We'll probably move within the week, then. I'm going to need approval for the payouts."

"I'll find you," Shelley said, standing and leaving a few quid on the table to pay for the coffee. She gave him a fond smile. "It'll be good working with you again, Eames. You always had the interesting jobs."

Interesting was sometimes a curse, and they both knew it.

***

Lookout: Those files were some piece of work, even with the password.  
Eames: What do you mean?  
Lookout: I fried two computers before I remembered your trick with the offline laptop. Apparently, the files were encrypted with a virus. If it sensed any kind of internet activity, it fried the motherboard.  
Lookout: IT isn't too pleased with me at the moment. Miles covered for me on one desktop, tho.  
Eames: Sorry.  
Lookout: Worth it to get a look at the files, though.  
Lookout: You still have the actual compound?  
Eames: I'm locking it into a safety deposit box. I'll mail you the key.  
Lookout: You definitely don't want to take that shit, man.  
Eames: Why?  
Lookout: I usually go for heavy sedation, myself. Less chance of really nasty side effects. Not that sedation and respiratory depression can't be bad, but you know what I mean.  
Eames: No, but let's pretend I do.  
Lookout: :)  
Lookout: He used neuroleptics in combination with a couple other things.  
Lookout: Somnacin has some anticholinergic effects due to its activity in the frontal lobes, and there are some downstream effects that affect the reticular activating system.  
Eames: gibberish, Yusuf!  
Lookout: :P  
Lookout: basic somnacin = nasty side effects, messes with your ability to sleep and dream with long term use. Short term use will help make the dreams more vivid by altering the balance of chemicals in your brain.  
Eames: Why didn't you say it like that?? Not all of us are genius chemists.  
Lookout: :P  
Lookout: Anyway, he added some neuroleptics and sedatives in his variant. Plus, the actual structure of his version of somnacin is wacky.  
Eames: Wacky how?  
Lookout: basically, the variations will all work together to boost the dreaming. But there are some pretty high risks involved with the dosing if you don't get it right. Especially to someone who's neuroleptic naive. There are serious side effects to that shit, which is why I don't use it.  
Lookout: neuroleptic naive ppl are really sensitive. It'll knock you the fuck out, especially with the benzos involved at the start, but I don't think the benzos are enough to counteract the side effect risk. ESPECIALLY since his protocol involves the use of more neuroleptics over time without the benzos.  
Eames: english, Yusuf!  
Lookout: Extremely high risk of anticholinergic delirium or neuroleptic malignant syndrome.  
Eames: those don't sound too good.  
Lookout: They're not. Easy enough to treat if you catch it, but I have the feeling by this protocol that he's not very interested in catching it.  
Eames: what are you saying?  
Lookout: Milton is going for hardcore data mining and doesn't care if he fries your brain or leaves you dead in the process, is what I'm saying. This protocol flays your mind open, leaves you open to some scary ass shit, wrecks your body and could possibly kill you if it's not treated.  
Lookout: Whoever he's working for, this is serious business.  
Lookout: You have to be careful, Eames.  
Eames: thanks for the heads up.  
Eames: How far along in his research did he get? Is this thing workable?  
Lookout: Judging by the data? He's already using it.  
Eames: fuck.  
Lookout: Exactly.  
Lookout: Whatever you're involved with, it's no joke.  
Lookout: I'm worried, Eames. This isn't good for your health. This guy doesn't give a shit about life in general, let alone whoever he puts this protocol on.  
Eames: Any way to counteract it ahead of time?  
Lookout: No.  
Lookout: Any "antidotes" are short acting. You'd have to be on an IV drip. Or eating Benadryl like candy, which would really only make the anticholinergic symptoms worse.  
Eames: All right, the answer is no, then.  
Lookout: What are you getting yourself into?  
Eames: Hell if I know.  
Eames: I haven't worked for these guys in years. They didn't exactly do me any favors when I worked for them directly, and made things difficult for me while I was working for the Yard.  
Lookout: My guess is that they want you dead.  
Eames: The question is why.  
Lookout: I kinda asked shelley about that.  
Lookout: I'm worried about you, man. After what happened here, it makes me wonder if they're considering you a liability.  
Eames: What happened in DC has nothing to do with the UK side of things.  
Lookout: It doesn't take a genius to figure out why you were sent over. And if the Dream Killer is still at large, your bosses can't be very happy with you.  
Eames: ....  
Eames: Stay out of this. You're in a safe gig right now.  
Lookout: I'm not stupid. I wouldn't ever say this off the Network.  
Lookout: Be careful.  
Lookout: Shelley knows some good people, but Milton is working with people that just don't give a fuck.  
Eames: Yeah.  
Eames: thanks, Yusuf. really.  
Lookout: I'll pray for your safety, my friend.  
Eames: Thanks. I think I'll need it.  
>>>Session terminated.

***  
***


	3. Closing The Circle

Eames sat down on the park bench next to the figures huddled against the cold. He pushed his scarf deeper into his coat and pulled his hat down a little tighter against his ears. "This better be a bloody good concert."

The figures next to him chuckled. "I like it," Eden replied.

"I'm only here because Princess wanted to go," the bundled up figure on Eden's other side grumbled. She laughed and bumped his shoulder playfully, her voice sounding much lighter and happier than it had the day before in the cafe. "What? This is absolutely not my thing."

"Oh, you love me and my horrible taste in music," she teased as the band began to tune up.

"Give me classic rock any day," he grumbled. He turned to look over at Eames. "So how about you? Classical fan?"

Eames smiled at Eden's boyfriend. "Dvorak, maybe."

"Never heard of him," the boyfriend grumbled, turning to look at Eden. "See how much I love you, Princess?"

Eden laughed. "Admit it, sweetheart, you like snuggling out here in public. Hols wouldn't be the same without a concert in the park." She grasped his gloved hand in hers and leaned against the back of the bench. "We're not the only ones here, you know."

The park was starting to fill up, and Eames was fairly certain he wasn't bugged and had lost his tail fifteen blocks ago. He made a big show of tying his boot and took out a slip of paper. "I think you dropped this."

Eden took it and glanced at it before tucking it into her shirt. "Good. That was fast."

"They're eager to see things move."

"It should be me going with you, Princess," the boyfriend grumbled.

"Better one of us stays home, just in case," Eden said. It sounded like an old argument to Eames. "If it came down to the mission or me, what do you think would happen?" The boyfriend grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. "Yeah, that's why. I'm going to be in the field, not behind a dozen firewalls. This is totally different."

"Pretty gutsy of you, Princess," Eames remarked.

Eden turned to him, an arch look on her face. "Only one person calls me Princess and keeps his balls, and it's not you. Don't do that again."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Meant no harm." She nodded in response and linked her hand through her boyfriend's again. "Private in-joke, then?" he asked, trying on a charming smile.

"It's a long story," Eden replied. "Eden is fine in public."

"Ah. All right, then. Are any of the other endearments off limits?" he asked, injecting a little humor into his tone.

Her lips quirked into a smile, just as he hoped they would. "Depends on what it is. Geordie is a sharpshooter, I'll have you know."

"Best in Edinburgh," the boyfriend added, eying Eames a little too critically for his taste. "What are you known for?"

"Hunting and forging," Eames replied honestly. "Mostly legit these days."

"No wonder our paths haven't crossed, then," Geordie said, his voice a low rumble.

"If this goes well, our paths might cross again," Eames told him.

"You've got that much tucked away in savings? My, government pensions have more than I thought they did," Eden said in amusement.

Eames laughed. "Or I can barter favors."

Eden gave him a sidelong look. "Oh, I don't do those kinds of favors, Mr. Eames. I'm happily involved already."

He laughed, harder this time. "Not that kind, darling, though I do like where your mind goes."

She laughed along with him, and her boyfriend glowered slightly. "Too bad you won't ever see it at work."

"Too right. Though safer on my life expectancy, I suspect."

"Definitely," Geordie replied, his Scots brogue thicker than previously.

Eden pulled his face to hers and kissed him soundly on the mouth. "No contest, love, not to worry. It's cute, though."

Eames smiled when Geordie seemed mollified. "I don't always mean anything by it, mate." He made a huffing noise that led Eden to patting his leg affectionately. "Anyway, I wanted you to get that before I left on my flight tonight."

"So soon?"

"It should clear the airports for the rest of you lot to follow without anyone catching on who's on the team. Plus, I suspect it'll take me some time to get to the meeting spot safely." He kept his eyes straight ahead as the conductor went to the microphone to begin introducing the concert band and the pieces they were going to play. "I'd rather not fuck it up before it all starts, you understand."

"Thoughtful of you."

"I do try," Eames commented dryly. "I'm not _always_ a thoughtless bastard."

Eden gave him a wry smile. "Just when the occasion warrants?"

"Precisely." He waited a beat. "Thank you for the drive, by the way. Impressive resume and background data that you pulled up."

"I do try," she said, mimicking his prior tone. "Proof that I'm worth the cost."

"It's helping get some idea how to work this job, though I'm sure Shell has ideas of her own."

"Always does, that one."

"Not always a bad thing, and she's a tough one. I don't think it's as bad as you think."

Eden looked over at him. "Oh, no, I think it's pretty bad, all things considered. I think they'll gut us if they get the chance, and there won't be any backup."

"There never is on the kind of jobs you do."

"True. But I think it's worse this time because you're on somebody's shit list. If it doesn't go down the way they want, I have a feeling they'd take us all out just to get to you."

Eames sighed. "I'm really not that important. I don't know why everybody seems to think so."

"We think so because _somebody_ thinks so. Whether it's true or not is beside the point, isn't it?"

For a fleeting moment, Eames wondered if this was because he hadn't told anyone about Arthur being the Dream Killer. He had done nothing, letting him go and keeping his mouth shut for Ariadne's sake. Was his head on the chopping block because of it? Did the Assistant Commissioner take his ineffectiveness personally? He had been very good at ignoring the fact that his nephew was a pedophile, after all. He could just as easily offer up Eames to MI6 for an impossible mission, and Superintendent Mayhew couldn't do anything about it. He had discussed Yusuf's comment about Milton using his protocol with MI6, and Mailand was running with it, trying to find Milton's test subjects. It should keep them busy enough while Eames was in Kenya looking for the cell.

He rubbed his jaw tiredly. "I'm getting too fucking paranoid."

"It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you," Eden commented in a low tone.

"You're too smart for your own good," Eames grumbled.

She laughed, and he paid attention to the concert despite the cold seeping through his coat and gloves. He could deal with it. His flight to Kenya was that evening, and he would be warm again very soon. He would just rather never return to Mombasa.

***

Eames looked down at the dead body at his feet. "This doesn't feel right."

"Suck it up, Eames," one of his teammates said. He looked up and saw that it was Essman, their point man. "Get the hell out, and I'll take the rear to give you guys enough time to get out. No one else is coming for us."

"Why screw us like this?" he hissed.

"Doesn't matter now, we can figure it out later." Essman turned back to the window in the warehouse. He had his rifle poised and ready. "I'll catch up, Eames. Just get going."

A hand yanked at his arm, and he spun around with his gun. He was pointing it at Calliope, and she had a grim expression on her face. "Come on, Eames. Essman's right."

He followed her through the warehouse and down into the basement. They were going to leave via a series of tunnels, and he almost lost track of Calliope twice. Her dark skin seemed to disappear into the shadows. An explosion rocked above them, and he heard her curse colorfully. "Calliope, we have to go back."

"Keep going!" she barked at him. She ran back and grasped his arm to pull him with her. "Max and the others are already at the gate. If that was Essman, you can't help him now."

One by one, they were being picked off.

"Dammit, what went wrong?"

"Damned if I know," she spat angrily. "Must be something political they didn't tell us about."

"We did our duty," Eames said. "Why screw us like this?"

"We'll figure it out later. Right now, we just have to make it out alive."

They ran to the end of the tunnel, the light was blinding. He felt something burn along his temple, heard Lucius shout in pain. _Dear god, we're fucked,_ Eames thought as he fell.

He jerked awake, the hum of the airplane still all around him. For a fleeting moment he could still feel the adrenaline course through him, though there was nothing he could do about it now. He wished for his office back at Scotland Yard, the mess of pages and the profiles he had been putting together. He would rather work on serial killers than the dreaming and the international espionage. Digging his hand into his pocket, he felt his poker chip as well as his key ring. He had Ariadne's chess piece, smooth and deceptively heavy under his fingers. He was in the real world, and he would be landing soon.

He didn't want to do this. He really didn't want to be doing this.

Eames had just his carry on bag, nothing to wait for at baggage claim. He walked in that direction anyway, his eyes flicking over everything to make sure he hadn't picked up any undue interest. No one seemed to be watching him, but he still felt paranoid. The dream hadn't helped, that was for certain. He'd never had it this often, or thought about that fuckup, but he'd never had to go back to the scene of the debacle, either.

The heat was welcome after the cold in England. The airport looked the same, and it felt as if the years were falling away. He had never figured out why he and the team had been left hanging out to dry, and it had seemed easier afterward to fall into routine at Scotland Yard. Mayhew never pushed his buttons simply for the sake of pushing them, and he was an honest sort of fellow. Eames hoped he would get a chance to work with him again.

He got to his hotel room without incident and without anyone following him. He swept the room for listening devices and came up empty. He still felt hunted, or haunted, perhaps both, and did the sweep again. He set up his own traps within the room. It was easy enough to hide the necessary microtechnology within the usual devices allowed on a plane, so he set up his sensor perimeter, hands twitchy all the while. It was like muscle memory, all these steps coming back to mind even if he hadn't needed this level of security for the past seven years. He might be jumping at shadows, but this was a place where all the shadows held teeth. He felt bad enough for dragging strangers through this, and was glad that his actual friends were far away from here.

Now all he had to do was wait.

***

Shelley arrived first, her field chemist in tow. Glen Booker was a thin, wiry fellow with frameless glasses in front of narrow, dark eyes. He looked more like a librarian, which Eames supposed fit the chemist's role. "Pascal and Gray should arrive tomorrow," Shelley told him. "Eden was making her own arrangements to be here, probably by tomorrow. Foster will be here tonight. Our architect for this one is Alistair Montgomery. You wouldn't know about him, since he's relatively new and shy as all hell. He was in this hotel before you got here, but he doesn't like meeting people on his own. For all I know, he's been sketching and making models."

"He doesn't even know if it's needed. Or even what we'll use."

"I gave him a rundown on my thoughts on this, based on Eden's checks. Would you rather wait until tomorrow, or do you not care if you hear it twice?"

"Let's run it down," Eames said, shaking his head. He needed something in his head other than his own worry and misgiving. He was already jumping at shadows. He would feel better when this was all over and he was back in his own flat, MI6 off his back.

One thing Eames could always say about Shelley, she did her homework.

Eden had found out quite a lot about Milton, both on and off the Network, based on IP logs and various combinations of usernames he had used. He had been in contact with someone named Muse off and on for years. It was never anything to trip MI6's suspicion level because the name Muse wasn't on any watch list and wasn't associated with any terror groups or known cells. It wasn't a name on any of the dream share tracking lists, either. The few public records of their interactions were via folk music mailing lists, so they were dismissed as not being relevant. Eden tracked messages with Muse, someone named Pantheon in a Greek mythology forum, Eloquence in a hunter's forum and Locke in a chemist forum. Singly, it didn't seem like much, but Eden had laid it all out in chronological order on the flash drive she had given Eames. He hadn't seen the relevance at the time, though he had been impressed with how much digging she had done.

Shelley gave relevance for the communiqués Eden had tracked. All of the different names were the same person, and the conversations were different facets of what was going on in the assumed terrorist cell that Milton was part of. He was doing experiments long distance that the Crown would never allow, even if MI6 was taken into consideration. He had apparently gotten involved some years ago while out in the field, though it was hard to track precisely what had happened. Shelley and Eden's best guess was six years ago, based on an abrupt shift in mailing lists Milton was part of. Shelley's best guess was that it was a cell of terrorists hoping to break apart the Kenyan government; MI6 was involved because the British Embassy was one of the primary targets. In addition, they were involved on the dream sharing scene, trying to undermine the current government and put a group of militants into power. The militants were isolationist and anti-British; if they rose to power, Kenya would be a playground for any anarchist, terrorist or underground player on the dream sharing scene.

"Christ, what a mess."

"Yeah. They're going to want him dead." Shelley looked at Eames in sympathy. "And you're not on their payroll, so there's nothing to disavow this time. You'd be the perfect fall guy."

Eames scrubbed at his face. "All right. That's the why of it, finally. I guess most of this they weren't privy to?"

"They couldn't track this. Their pattern finders are much more direct, and they don't know what to look for in a case like this." Shelley looked at him with a sympathetic expression. "To find a rogue, you have to think like one. You have to be in the same mindset that they're in, know the same kind of people. They killed off everyone else, Eames."

"Fuck."

Booker polished his glasses and slid them back onto his face. "I'll need accurate weights for everyone on the team if we have to go under."

"For sedation," Eames guessed. Booker nodded. "You think we can do this just going under?"

"Milton's not stupid. He'll be hard to get to and completely militarized. But to get to the rest of the cell, you're going to need to know what he knows. I think I got you an in with the group, assuming I'm right. You can try to be Rodney Bennington, another ex-pat. He's known to throw money around to different radical groups, and I've traced him back to this cell I think Milton's part of. They haven't had any contact that Eden can trace, but that means jack and shit in the real world sometimes."

Some of the tension eased out of Eames. "Well, then. Time to go observe Mr. Bennington."

***

Rodney Bennington was a betting man. He liked the casinos and the races, and he somehow managed to make just enough money to stay afloat, no matter how much he wagered. He was the kind of man to buy a round at the bar when he won and hustle pool in order to pay off his debt if he lost. He appeared to be like every other gambler that Eames had ever seen, which instantly made him suspicious. He kept a close watch on Bennington, nursing several rounds of drinks. He wasn't surprised when Bennington took notice of him at the bar and sidled over to him. "I haven't seen you around these parts."

"Decided to visit for hols," Eames said with a shrug. "It's so bloody cold up north, it seemed like a good idea."

Bennington laughed. "Another Brit, then?" Eames nodded. "Well, I've given up the frozen north. Fancy a game?"

"Of what?"

"We can try darts first, then move up to cards, if you're brave."

"How about skipping to cards? I'm pants at darts, I'm afraid."

Bennington laughed. "Very well, then, we'll start there."

Eames introduced himself as Thomas Edwards and made sure not to play too well, in keeping with the persona of a beleaguered office man taking an exotic vacation to help himself recharge. Bennington introduced himself by name, and Eames had the feeling that Bennington was trying to suss him out as much as he was doing the same. It was odd, almost like being in front of a mirror, and he resisted the urge to check his totem. He knew how he got here, and he knew what he was doing.

"You know, Thomas, this isn't exactly a common tourist attraction."

"No, I don't suppose it is." He shrugged. "I put up a map and then threw darts."

"You said you were pants at darts."

"I am," Eames said with a laugh, noting how sharp Bennington's mind was. "Why else do you think I'm here? I was aiming for Egypt. I should have probably gone with one of those safari things or tourist attractions. I don't fancy the mosquitoes overmuch."

Bennington laughed along with him. "Well, it doesn't seem that bad, does it?"

"Not at all. Blazing hot, which is a nice change. The exchange rate helps some," he added. "I definitely couldn't drink all day back home."

"It's definitely a whole different way of life here," he agreed. "Always an adventure, while everything is so... Well, there's no soul back there, I feel. Just one layer of deception after another. Turns a man off, it does."

Eames frowned. "Sorry to hear it."

"Old tale and not easily told. I've grown used to it. Will I see you around, then?"

"Oh, I think so. Nice place, this." And it was, really. If he had been here on more pleasant terms, this bar was exactly the kind of place he would have liked to frequent.

"Good to meet you, then."

"Likewise. I'll see you around."

***

Eames woke to the sound of pounding on his hotel room door. His poker chip rolled across his fingers just so, and he opened the door to reveal Eden and Shelley. "Put some clothes on," Eden said, lips tight.

"Nice to see you, too. It's four in the bloody morning."

"They've been poking into that identity you offered. They're paranoid as fuck," Eden told him without preamble.

Eames scrubbed at his chin. "This couldn't wait why?"

"Because I have a trace on where he was checking from," Eden replied. She looked around and found his discarded trousers from the night before, handing them over to him when he couldn't find them. "Not a morning person, I see."

"No, not particularly," Eames grumbled, stepping into the pants. "And usually girls want me _out_ of my pants, darling."

"I've seen better," Eden replied sweetly.

"Ouch. You wound me."

Shelley snorted and rolled her eyes. "Stop flirting, Eames."

"It's like telling me to stop breathing, Shell," he fired back, slipping into their old routine. It felt good. He sat on his bed and rubbed at his eyes. "All right, all right. What happened?"

"I gave Shelley parameters to start picking up background chatter for me before I arrived. I was able to get an earlier flight, and now I'm glad I did. Chatter spiked after you met up with Bennington yesterday, and it definitely goes to the cell we think Milton's part of." Eden looked at Eames' blink of surprise. "Nothing blown yet, but it definitely links the two together."

"I can copy mannerisms in the time I've talked to him, but I'm going to need to do better than that if they're interacting on the dreamscape."

Shelley smiled, resembling a shark scenting blood in the water. "This is why I'm on board and why we got Foster. He knows some of the local players. We'll get you Bennington if you really need him."

"This couldn't wait until later why?"

Eden looked at Shelley. "Tell him."

"Tell me what?"

"Milton and Muse are definitely in the cell, like I told you yesterday," Shelley said. "What we found is a spike in traffic to Vauxhall Gardens."

Eames' chest seized for a second. "What does that mean?"

"Maybe a mole," Eden said quietly. "Or a trap for us."

He wanted to check for his sidearm but resisted the urge. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "They wouldn't know this persona I'm using. It's from after their time, and I've never used it before. Not that it means anything, but that helps."

"The question is, do we move on identifying the cell or just go with the bits we already know?" Shelley asked. "I can have Pascal and Gray in position to track Milton by the end of the day. He'll be out of commission, then. Going after the cell is just being ambitious."

"No," Eames said, bringing his hands down to his lap. "At this point, going after the cell is necessary. If we take this to the worst case scenario, I asked you all to walk into a trap. Killing Milton will just get the rest of the cell members after us. It would be springing the trap and the lot of us get fried. We take out the cell, we're more likely going to be able to walk away."

"Going under might not be an option anymore," Eden said, looking between the two of them. "I can try to get the security clearances, but if you're talking about killing them, this is not just a dream share anymore."

"No, I think this is a sodding cease and desist order," Eames said, looking at Shelley. "You didn't sign on for that, Shell. Your call and your team."

"Our shooters want to shoot. I'll send the chemist and architect home." Shelley looked determined. "The rest of us will blow the cell sky high."

***  
***


	4. Chasing Shadows In The Dark

"Oh, hey! I just talked to you the other night. Ben, is it?" Eames said, seeing Bennington on the street. Pascal had done a good job shadowing him after their meeting, and there was no sign of where the cell members might be. Eames decided it was time to try to flush out the game.

"Bennington." He seemed a bit disconcerted to see Eames. "Tommy, was it?"

"Good memory on you," Eames said cheerfully, crossing the busy street to meet up with him. "Happy Christmas," he said, clapping Bennington on the shoulder. A small microdot was transferred from his finger onto his collar. It should aid in tracking him, just in case he went somewhere Pascal couldn't.

"Happy Christmas," Bennington returned dutifully. "Out for a walk in this dreadful heat?"

"It's only going to get worse later today. I thought I'd try to see whatever I could. There's nothing quite like getting lost in a new city. Any places you think I should try in particular?" he asked, keeping to the tourist persona.

"There's always the market. I generally like staying there. People watching is good, too."

"Odd sort of hobby, isn't it?"

Bennington's eyes seemed to flash. "You always learn more than you think you do, watching how people behave. I'm off to meet a friend, though. Good to see you."

"Good to see you. I'll buy a drink if I see you in the bar again."

"Sounds good."

Eames crossed back to where he had been and continued on his way, as if heading to the market. He put in the earpiece that had been hidden in his pocket and hit the speed dial on his disposable phone. "Well?"

"She's got a signal and Pascal's on the move," Shelley responded. "Hopefully we'll have something by tonight."

"Understood."

Eames wandered into the market, his eyes sharp and on alert. He had that feeling he was being watched, or that he was forgetting something. It was an itch down his spine or a nagging feeling at the base of his skull. He bought some fruit and wandered around the market, absorbing the sounds and smells around him.

 _If you want to hide something,_ Calliope used to say, _do it plain sight._

Eames' eyes lit on the buildings around the market square. Old Town was best navigated on foot, as the alleys and streets were usually too narrow for both automobiles and foot traffic. There were plenty of things to look at in Old Town, as well as Fort Jesus nearby.

He ducked into a market stall and dialed Shelley's number. "What do you say we check out the Fort?" he asked without preamble. "I'm sure not all of it is used as a museum."

"Yes, indeed," Shelley said, enthusiasm in her voice. "I'll have Eden run security checks and tap into existing surveillance. Shall I meet you in the market?"

"Just in case I'm being followed, no. Let me wander around a bit more, then call back when you're ready to go. Oh, and Happy Christmas."

She snickered. "All I want for Christmas is blow something up."

"I do try to oblige, darling."

"So thoughtful that way. I'll call you back."

Eames pocketed the phone and continued through the market. The feeling that he had forgotten something was gone, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being followed.

 _It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you,_ he told himself. Eden had said that, and she seemed like a sensible sort. She knew nothing about MI6's previous activities, so if she thought he wasn't being paranoid, chances were that he wasn't being paranoid.

He ducked into a different market stall and eyed the crowd behind him, as well as all of the buildings nearby. Nothing glinted or shifted in windows as far as he could tell, and there were no rooftop shadows. That didn't mean they weren't there, whoever they were. That didn't mean no one was following him. That didn't mean no one wanted to kill him.

Eames headed toward a bar. If he was going to deal with this shit, he needed a drink to take the edge off. Otherwise, he was just as liable to shoot Shelley when she showed up.

***

"Eden tells me the Fort holds research programs, a conservation lab, an Education Department and an Old Town Conservation Office." Shelley looked over at Eames as they headed to the Fort. There was a thin sheen of sweat at his temples. He was wearing a linen suit, which helped to keep him a bit cooler than it looked, and hid a few weapons she knew would be strapped to his body. He didn't look settled at all, and she wondered if he had his head in the game or not.

"It also used to be a prison," Eames replied quietly. He vaguely remembered touring the place, once upon a time. "Torture rooms, cells, that sort of thing."

"You were here before," Shelley observed.

"I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"I knew you got jacked, but not exactly how. I was being respectful, asshole."

Eames turned away to look at the stone walls rising in front of them. "Did Pascal check in?"

"Yeah. He and Gray are having the time of their lives playing cat and mouse. Your man met up with another, and Gray split off to follow that one, just in case."

"So we might find the cell."

"That _is_ the plan."

They fell into silence as they entered the museum. They looked through the barracks and the various parts of the fort. Eames tried to keep his eyes sharp for blocked off hallways or rooms where a cell might be able to meet with impunity. Various former hallways had been blocked off at different points since the Fort's original construction in 1593. It looked different than he remembered; it had been easier going through the Fort with Calliope and Max, trailing behind the mark they had been working on seven years ago. The three of them had been working the background before the rest of the team had come in, and it had been a happier time, perhaps a month before he and Max were the only ones to survive the hit.

"Where?" Shelley asked him, eyes flat and lips drawn into a fine line. "Where would they hide? I can't tell where they would be."

"Maybe one of the staff areas? I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it as he thought. "This is one of the more public areas, it's perfect. Maybe it's not a room, per se, but just a certain area of the Fort. Or the museum. Maybe if we go to the museum?"

"This is your party," Shelley intoned, shrugging.

The museum didn't net them any other clues, but Eames was sure that the cell had to be meeting around the Fort. They had found a cell here seven years ago, and information flowed like water amongst terrorists. As soon as one cell was eliminated, another could move in and take its place. That was the way of things.

"They meet here, at the very least. It's too public. It's perfect."

"Conjecture," Shelley said with a shrug. "And a pretty afternoon learning the streets in case we have to run for our lives. So it's not a total loss. Come on, Eames. Time to regroup and find out what Pascal and Gray saw."

Eames thought he saw a familiar face in the shadows of the museum, but it was gone when he blinked. His paranoia had to be getting the better of him.

***

Gray's target had gone to a seedy motel at the outskirts of the city, one where people easily looked the other way. It wasn't a place for tourists, and the room was in the back of the motel, closest to one of the staff entrances. He got a name out of the registry book, one that no one knew. Even Foster was impressed; as an international arms dealer, he thought he knew all of the players in Mombasa. "I wonder if Bennington is expanding business?" he mused.

"Now's not the time to worry about that," Shelley said sharply. "Are you sure this guy is involved?"

"He's a pro," Gray said, contempt in his voice. "He's doing something, and the room he's in is as difficult to get into as this one is," he said, nodding around Eames' hotel room. "Nothing but white noise on all frequencies, no clear shots from any rooftop, easy ins and outs."

"It isn't foolproof," Shelley protested.

Gray's response likely would have been biting; the two didn't get along at all. Pascal entered the room, sweaty and pale. "Dude, you look like shit."

Pascal's eyes were flat. "There may have been a complication," he said without preamble. "Bennington's definitely hot, and he's talked with three other guys after you split off, Gray."

"Mine was definitely a player of some kind."

"Is it our sleeper cell?" Eames asked bluntly.

"Bennington's a part of it," Pascal said with certainty. "The three guys he talked to were familiar. At least two of them are on Interpol's terrorist list."

Eames let that sink in for a moment. "Eden's still watching the signal in her room, isn't she?"

Shelley nodded and dialed the number for Eden's disposable cell phone. "Let's find out where the cell is, shall we?"

He had to be paranoid, but Eames was almost afraid to think it would be this easy. He waited, nibbling on a fingernail as Shelley got Eden to interpret the signals she was tracking. He watched Shelley pore over the map of Mombassa, marking it with various symbols at different locations. "All right," she said finally. "That's got to be it. Pack it up and clear out, unless you want some target practice."

Eames got up and took a look at the map that Shelley had drawn on. There were various stars, asterisks, circles and squares. A large grouping of squares was just next to Fort Jesus, between the fort and the museum, just as he thought there might be. Shelley looked up at him and tapped at the collection of squares with a smile, the same one she used to give him when conceding that he had a point.

Pascal came over as well and looked at the spot Shelley was pointing out. "Bennington passed by that area three times today. I wondered what was up with that."

Eames looked up sharply. "What times were those?" All the times Pascal told him coincided with when he and Shelley were at the Fort. His face might have been the one he thought he saw in the shadows. "Does anyone out here know who Shelley is?" he hissed to Pascal as Shelley got off the phone with Eden.

"I don't know. I don't usually roll this way."

"What's up?" she asked, looking between them.

"Are you a player around these parts?" Gray asked abruptly. Eames wanted to smack him, because Shelley immediately bristled.

"Pascal saw Bennington near the Fort today," Eames said, cutting off Shelley's reply to Gray. "I'm worried they know who you are, and we won't be surprising them at all."

"I work in the UK and the States. Once I did a job in France last year. I stick to where English is the main language, asshole," she hissed to Gray. "Fuck off."

"Stuck up bitch," Gray replied, shooting her the finger. "I don't want to get my ass shot if you fuck this up."

Eames pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look. Whatever. Either they know we're coming or they don't, right?"

"They don't," Shelley insisted.

"They better not," Pascal grumbled. "Motherfucker never saw me, I know that."

"The bitch I followed never saw me," Gray insisted.

"So they could just be as paranoid as we are," Eames said in a conciliatory tone. "Fact of the matter is, we need to be cautious. Either way. No heroics, just kill them all and get the hell out of town while we can."

Gray smiled at Eames, and it didn't comfort him in the slightest. "I like this plan. Let's do it."

***

Eden hadn't intended to run point, but she had to cut the security feeds at the Fort and Museum as soon as they closed for tourists. Between her tablet, wire cutters and careful splices, security feeds experienced only a momentary flicker as she established the security loop. She timed the lights to dim briefly as that happened, so that anyone watching the feeds would simply chalk it all up to a brownout. None of the plans she saw indicated any backup generators, so it would be a valid excuse.

As soon as the loop was in place, she flashed a thumbs up to Shelley. "Good to go, guys."

"Thanks. Keep an eye out for us." Shelley tapped her earpiece. "Since you have to unhook that shit, you tell me when someone's coming." Eden nodded, and then the team entered Fort Jesus to start looking for the hidden location. Bennington was somewhere inside, and Eames was willing to bet that Milton and the other cell members would be as well.

Mouth dry and heart beating a staccato rhythm, Eames followed Pascal into the heart of the fort. He and Gray had point, while Eames and Shelley brought up the rear. They were all dressed in tight black outfits, guns and knives strapped to their bodies. Pascal held up a hand, his eyes sharp and fever bright in the half light bathing the courtyard. It was still, no sound at all, and he briskly pointed in the two directions that they had determined ahead of time they were going to focus on. Eames and Gray went off in one direction, Shelley following Pascal in the other.

Eames and Gray moved swiftly and silently down the hallways, heading to the oldest part of the fort, the part that had been carved into the coral. Eames kept his mouth shut; he didn't need to talk to Gray and Gray was a serious sort of fellow if he wasn't trying to wind up Shelley. He had his gun out, finger over the trigger, poised to shoot to kill. Eames kept his trigger finger over the guard; it wouldn't do to shoot Gray by accident just because he was twitchy.

Eames had no idea how much time passed as they went through the hallways, looking into different rooms and quietly entering staff only areas of the fort. There was nothing there, nothing they could see, and Eames was getting restless. By the jerky way Gray was sweeping his gun from side to side, Eames could only guess that he was getting antsy as well. Eden had been sure that Bennington's signal had returned to the fort.

They heard the repeat fire of a gun coming from Pascal's direction. Not even sparing a glance at each other, they raced back in the direction they had come, just as more gunfire broke out. _Not again,_ Eames thought, though it hadn't started this way seven years ago. It had started with a bomb, and it had gone all downhill from there.

They kept to walls of the fort, avoiding the open courtyard. There were all sorts of terraces, stairs and walkways, and the reconstruction in some areas leant even more shadow and hiding spaces to the fort. They moved as quickly as they dared in Pascal and Shelley's direction, following the sound of gunfire. There was shouting in Swahili, but Eames had never learned much of the language past the numbers. He hadn't needed to before, and his memory of the few words he had learned was hazy. Max had been their language guy, and he could speak like a native.

Gray came to the corridor with the marksmen first, and he shot them dead with clean bullets in the skull. Eames turned on the ball of his foot when he heard a shout behind them, and he took down someone behind him. He didn't even stop to find out who he had shot, but followed Gray into the corridor. Kill or be killed, that was the name of the game at this point. No one legitimate would be at the fort this time of night, and especially not carrying semiautomatic weapons or submachine guns.

There was more sputtering gunfire ahead, and then a cry of pain that sounded like Pascal. "Shit," Gray hissed, rushing forward, gun at the ready.

Eames kept his position behind Gray, shooting at the shifting shadows behind them. He tossed the spent cartridge aside and jammed in a new one after rounding a corner, hearing feet approach from behind him. "Gray," he called out. "There's more coming!"

He turned his head and looked into the large room that must have been a conference room or ballroom when the Portuguese were in control of the fort. He was just in time to see Pascal's head explode in a rain of blood from three different marksmen shooting at him. Gray shot at the marksmen, but it was too late to save Pascal. Eames didn't see Shelley at all.

A high pitched feminine scream carried from the outer courtyard, and it didn't sound like Shelley. Eames hoped to God that it wasn't Eden.

The door on the other side of the conference room opened, and more armed guards spilled out. "Duck!" Eames cried, throwing himself to the floor.

Gray turned to shoot them, and they opened fire at the same time. Eames saw three guards fall to the ground and lay still. He looked back at Gray with wide eyes, watching blood fly out of the wounds blossoming on his chest. He kept his finger on the trigger, shooting across the room as he shouted, intent on taking out as many of the opposition as he could before dying. Eames tried to drop as many of them as he could, but his position on the ground made it difficult.

Too late, he remembered the armed figures that were following them.

Eames turned just in time to see one black clad man holding a knife to Eden's throat and another bringing his boot down onto his head.

***

"Hello, lover."

Eames turned toward the voice in confusion. His eyes widened as soon as he saw the voice's owner. While he was probably concussed, there was no mistaking the woman he was looking at. She was tall and rail thin, with dark skin, dreadlocks and a shark's smile on her face. She was dressed in skintight black clothing beneath a loose gray dress. She seemed pleased at the look of shock on his face.

 _"Calliope?"_

There was a flash of teeth in her smile. "Oh, love, it's been a long time." She hunkered down in front of him. "You've done well."

"Calliope," Eames began, voice breaking. "But you..."

"I was a lot better than we all thought." She ran her hand along Eames' face, and held up a hand to stay the guard aiming a gun at Eames when he reached for her. "These men work for me now."

"But..." He shook his head. "Why didn't you contact us? Max and I thought you were dead..." The chain attached to his neck rattled as he leaned toward her. "We mourned you, Calliope."

"You were the only ones." She pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist. "You two did well for yourselves. I'm glad." Her fingers brushed across his face. "It was worth the sacrifice."

"Why didn't you contact us?"

"And ruin your setup with the Yard and Shelley?" Calliope asked archly. She rolled her hips above his, making him remember what it had been like with her seven years ago, before it all fell apart. She dug her fingers into his hips, pulling them up against hers. She laughed at the stubborn tilt to his jaw. "What? Not wanting to play anymore? You and I had a blast, Eames. And there were the times with Chester, before he got himself killed."

"What do you want now, Calliope?" he asked, feeling numb and used. Calliope was alive, leader of this sleeper cell, and he was infinitely stupid.

"I can't have you taking Milton away from me, lover," Calliope said, her eyes diamond hard and coal black. "He's important, and SIS can't have him back."

"Then what are you going to do with me?" he asked tiredly.

"Don't worry, I'll think of something," she purred. Her smile was sharp and full of teeth. It used to be exciting to see, but now it only sent tendrils of fear rolling through him. Her hands were cold and tight like iron bands against his face, and Eames resisted the urge to push her away. Chained to the wall as he was, he couldn't antagonize her. They used to be friends with benefits, but now he didn't know who she was anymore. What little he could see was a frightening, warped version of the Calliope he remembered. She would think of something, all right, and he wasn't going to like it.

She had always been creative. Of that, he had no doubt.

After Calliope and her guard left, Eden looked up from where she was chained to the wall. "Your girlfriend's a bitch."

Eames sighed. "She was never my girlfriend. Fuck buddy, maybe. That was a long time ago."

"She's still a bitch."

"Yeah." Eames paused. "You think Shelley's okay?"

"She's a survivor," Eden replied, leaning against the wall.

"We all are," he replied. "I have to admit, I'm more than a little disturbed how people I thought were dead are actually still alive."

Eden laughed mirthlessly. "Let's hope that'll apply to us, too."

"Or Shelley will come back for us..."

"No."

Eames turned to look at Eden in surprise. "What?"

"She won't come back for us."

Eames looked at her as if for the first time. "Why take this job, then? You were convinced from the start we would fail."

"Because she asked me to. I owe her." Eden pointed to the chain around her neck. "It was kind of like this. Geordie and I were working a job in Edinburgh. It went south, and Shelley happened to be there to get us out."

He frowned at her flat and toneless voice. "It was bad, wasn't it?"

Eden looked up at the ceiling, no expression on her face. "They didn't take kindly to interference. Beat us both half to death, made him watch as they took turns with me. Nearly killed us."

"Jesus. Who were you up against?"

"Fuckers that died the next year," she said, looking back at him with a stony expression. "Didn't change anything, though."

"No, it doesn't." Eames stared up at the ceiling, unable to meet her gaze. "Maybe Calliope won't kill us."

Eden snorted. "She has plans for _you._ I'm expendable."

"It's not right," Eames began.

"Nope," she agreed. "But that's how it is. No one really takes jobs like this if they have something to lose." Her voice cracked. "Unless they have to."

Eames wanted to protest, but couldn't. He didn't have much waiting for him. Max and Yusuf were safe, Ariadne had Arthur. He had no family, and even his work at Scotland Yard could be shifted to someone else. Mayhew would miss him, but Eames was expendable. It was why MI6 chose him, after all. He had no ties, nothing to lose but his life.

"We'll get out of this, Eden, I promise you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Eames."

He let out a gusty sigh. "I'll think of something."

Eden didn't answer. He hadn't expected her to.

***

Calliope returned with four men, all of them armed to the teeth. Eames felt a cold sweat break out along his spine. Eden merely watched them with large, expressionless eyes. _Dear God,_ Eames thought, _don't let her die because of me._

"Hello, lover," Calliope began in a cheerful tone. "We really ought to stop meeting this way."

"If you'd told me, I'd've dressed up for the occasion and gotten a table for two," Eames replied.

"Oh, I don't know. I've gotten used to dried blood and sweat on you. Dirt and grime suit you, Eames," Calliope returned.

Eames merely let out a sigh. "What's going on, Calliope?"

"I know MI6 is after Milton. I want what they have on him. And I want what _you_ have on him." She gestured to one of her men, who was carrying a briefcase. "I'll get to the bottom of it."

"Why don't you just ask me?"

"Do you think I can trust you?"

Eames narrowed his eyes at her. "Why would I lie to you?"

"For lying to you."

He shook his head. "We were close once..."

"A good fuck," Calliope interrupted, eyes narrowing. "Is that what this girl is now?" She stood and pointed a gun at the center of Eden's forehead. "Your only type is willing, after all."

"She's the hacker, no more and no less."

Calliope cocked the gun. "So you won't care if her brains are all over the wall, then."

Eames took in Eden's stony, resigned expression. "Calliope, don't," he said. "She's not part of anything."

"So you won't miss her."

"Goddammit, Calliope!" Eames shouted. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You never would've done this before!"

She looked at Eames with amusement. "You don't know me as well as you think you do. Especially not now."

"For God's sake, Calliope," Eames pleaded. "If you're angry with me, do whatever you want to me. Don't drag anyone else into it."

Calliope squatted beside Eden, the muzzle of the gun pressed up against her temple. "Why should he plead for you, if he's truly not fucking you?" she mused, watching her reaction closely.

"He just has an overdeveloped sense of chivalry," Eden replied tonelessly.

"Our Eames?" Calliope scoffed.

"That, and my boyfriend will carve out his kidney with a spoon."

Calliope laughed and turned to Eames. "Oh, love, you are always in the wrong place at the wrong time." She nodded briskly at one of the rear guards. "She can go. She checked out, anyway," she said as she stood up. Eames could only stare at her in shock. The guard unlocked the chain and roughly pulled Eden to her feet. Calliope looked at the guard. "Standard evac precautions and airport drop." She turned back to Eden. "Don't make me regret this generosity."

Eden's expression remained flat; she didn't trust this woman at all. "Don't make _him_ regret this exchange. He makes good on his promises."

Calliope grasped Eden's chin tight enough to bruise. "I daresay I know him better than you, little girl. Stay out of the big kids' sandbox if you know what's good for you."

Eden wrenched herself from Calliope's grip and allowed the guard to escort her out of the cell. She didn't look back as she left.

Eames watched Calliope closely. "What does that prove, Calliope? Why are you doing this? You can ask me whatever you want. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Unlike me," she replied, baring her teeth. She looked at the remaining guards. "Move him. If he runs, nonvital shots only."

He didn't resist when he was manhandled into a different room. Eames didn't understand why she was doing this. What was she trying to prove? The PASIV in her hands mocked him; it didn't frighten him, as he'd trained for hours in real time yearly even if he had no immediate job to do requiring its use. Dreams didn't scare him.

Calliope did. She was nothing like the woman he once knew.

Milton was in the room Eames was brought to. He had some kind of glassware on the table, and was titrating something by hand with a pipette. It looked almost like the liquid he had found in Milton's office. He didn't look up as they entered the room, but did lean into Calliope's touch when she sidled up to him. "Doses are ready, Calliope," he said in crisp tones.

Eames knew he was staring but didn't care. "Were you working with her the whole time?"

Milton looked up at Eames, face blank. "How many kilos are you?"

Calliope stepped into Eames' view, gun in hand. "Answer him, lover. It wouldn't do to lose you in limbo."

"What do you want from me, Calliope? They screwed me over, too. I'm not in any game. I'm not a player anymore."

Her smile was an edged thing. "You just don't think you are, love. You've been sleeping these past few years. Don't worry. We'll wake you up. You know more than you think you do."

She supplied Milton with his weight when he was too stunned to answer. Eames didn't struggle when he was strapped down and an IV line was placed. He was the subject, and others were going to be the dreamer. He thought of Yusuf's warnings, how Milton's protocol burned out minds and left them better off dead if not dead. "Don't," he pleaded with Calliope, unable to stop her. "Please," he whispered, looking at her helplessly with large eyes.

"Sweet dreams," Calliope murmured, just as she used to.

Then the dreaming began.

***  
***


	5. Layers Of Doubts

Mombasa was hot and teeming with people at the market. The voices blurred all around him, and Eames focused on the poker chip in his hand. He drew it across his knuckles and nearly froze when he saw Dominic Cobb seated across from him at the table.

"You shouldn't be here," Eames told him.

"Consider this a warning. It's Cobol's territory here, after all. I can't stay." He smiled, though it was soulless and empty. "You keep rubbing that chip like it'll reproduce."

Asshole. Eames lost the hand and bowed out of the game, taking his handful of remaining chips. "You're buying me a drink."

"Of course."

They sat at a table near a courtyard, and Eames ate peanuts in an almost agitated manner. "Spill."

"Eden and Shelley are going to look for you," Cobb began.

"Bullshit. They treasure their own skin more than me."

"It's a request from the Network."

Eames snorted. "Fuck you, Cobb. Assuming you're not just one of my projections."

Cobb snorted and downed his drink. "Do you know why MI6 really wants you out of the way?"

"Why don't you enlighten me?"

"It's not just _what_ you know, it's _who_ you know. You're Mayhew's golden child at the Yard, and your own personal network of contacts is almost legendary." Eames snorted and watched the bar rather than Cobb's earnest expression. "You're not paying attention, Eames. Why the fuck do you think you survived, seven years ago?"

Eames turned to glare at Cobb. "Nice try, asshole. Max and I got out because Calliope drew the short straw and stayed behind. No more, no less. I thought she was dead all these years."

"You were turned into a sleeper. _You,_ Eames. Not just Milton, _you._ Milton's disappearance was just to draw you in, to trigger you. He's not the one that went rogue," Cobb insisted. "You did."

Eames glared at Cobb. "Now I _know_ you're fucking with me."

"Listen to me," Cobb insisted, reaching out to grab hold of Eames' arm. He let go at Eames' glare. "Think back to what happened."

"It was a terrorist group, splintered off of Iraq. They were going to target the Crown. We couldn't allow that." Eames frowned at Cobb. "We shut them down, reported back and were debriefed. Then we were decommissioned and cut loose."

"And that didn't strike you as strange?"

"Of course it did, you pillock. But they've done worse when faced with budget cuts. Easy enough to place the blame on us." Eames drummed his fingers on the table. "Half of us died that day. They shook us loose like so much trash and had us fend for ourselves. We never stood a chance."

"Why kill off capable agents that way?" Cobb asked, squinting at Eames. "Why cut you loose when you did as they said? Your team had an _amazing_ close rate. Why leave you for dead if you were useful to the Crown?"

He had often wondered about that. His team hadn't made too many enemies at MI6. They knew a lot of people in the field, in the intelligence community. No one had been gunning for them seven years ago.

"It's who you know, Eames. It's always been about who you know."

Eames narrowed his eyes at Cobb. "Everyone keeps saying that, but I don't know anyone important anymore."

"Don't sell yourself short, Eames," Cobb chided, his smile mercenary. "You're still important to a lot of people."

He instantly thought of Ariadne, and by extension Arthur. Max and Yusuf were his friends, and they thought he was important. Mayhew would. Shelley might miss him, but it was just business, especially after the shakedown four years ago.

"You know someone," Cobb said, sounding pleased. "Tell me."

"Of all the people to forge, Cobb really shouldn't have been it," Eames remarked. He turned toward the man sitting in front of him that was wearing Cobb's face. "He's a self-centered prick and he wouldn't be _here."_

Everyone in the casino turned as one and stared at Cobb. Eames saw a trickle of sweat along his hairline and liked to think it was from more than the heat. He got up slowly, backing away from the table. He was the subject, so these were his projections. Cobb wasn't reacting the same way, so Calliope had a forger doing this. Of all the people to pick, why _him?_ He turned and walked toward the bar as the projections advanced toward Cobb, who now looked like one of the guards Calliope had with her.

"I think I'll just shoot myself in the head and wake up," Eames said lightly, heading toward the bar. "Someone's bound to have a knife I can use." He patted himself down. "Ah, yes. I always dream of this beauty," he said, lifting a gun out of his jacket pocket.

He had the gun against his temple when he thought he saw Ariadne out of the corner of his eye. Slack jawed, he put the gun away and raced after her. He knew she had to be projection, she had to be, no one in the UK would have known how important she had been to him. She was in a thin little summer dress, out of deference to the heat, her hair loose and in frizzy waves. She was with Arthur, of course, that rotter, but he accepted that. She had made her choice, and he hadn't been romantically involved with her anyway. She smiled up at him, seated at a table far from where the piss-poor forger had been. The projections at the bar were all calm again, going about their business as if nothing happened. "Why are you here?" he asked her.

"Why do you need me to be here?" she asked him back. "You tell me."

He couldn't help but smile at the way she laughed and Arthur glowered at her. "I missed you."

"Ah, so that must be it. Why not have a drink? They probably don't know he failed yet."

Eames followed her eyes to where the forger was being torn limb from limb by one of his projections. "Well, I suppose one drink wouldn't hurt."

"If he's the dreamer, this will all collapse once he wakes. Might as well enjoy it, right?" she asked, scooting over a bit in her chair to make room for him.

"True enough," he agreed. "I'm even willing to put up with _you,"_ he said, shooting an annoyed glance in Arthur's direction.

"You really shouldn't hate me so much," Arthur replied stiffly. "I'm keeping her safe from you, aren't I? Did you really think she could escape any of _this_ if she had stayed where she was?" Arthur asked him.

Eames snagged Arthur's drink and downed it all at once. He felt the burn of the scotch and sighed. Glenfidditch. Of course he'd dream of the good stuff. "Look. You changed her mind somehow. It wasn't really her choice."

"Of course it was." His eyes were empty, and Eames felt a chill at the sight of them trained on him. "It was always her choice. You're just upset she didn't choose _you."_

Ariadne placed her hand on Eames' arm. "Enough. We'd talk in circles if you two keep this up."

"Ariadne," Eames said with a sigh, shaking his head. "As long as you're safe, it's all right. Mostly."

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Eames. It means a lot to me."

Eames looked down at his hands. "I don't suppose I'll ever figure out what happened."

"I'm all right, Eames. Really. You _know_ that. I wouldn't be so calm if I wasn't."

Everything began to shake and tremor around him. "What in blazes?"

"He's gone," Arthur said, looking over at where the forger had been. "He woke up. I guess he was the dreamer. It's all starting to collapse."

"Time to wake up," Ariadne said, pulling Eames to his feet. "Go on and get out of here if you can. You have to stay safe, or we'll never see each other again."

Her touch burned, and Eames gasped as his eyes snapped open.

He was in the cell, strapped down with an IV in his arm. It had been just a dream, after all, but he still felt the pang of loss.

"He's awake," came a familiar voice.

Brows knit, Eames turned and saw Arthur and Ariadne standing there, guns at their sides. There were five bodies in the room all around him. "Jesus Christ," Ariadne whispered, going though Milton's notes at the desk. "What were they doing?"

"Just take it and let's go. Someone's bound to notice the noise and the bodies before long," Arthur said, his voice sharp. He pulled at the bonds around Eames' arms and yanked the IV line without ceremony, taping a square of gauze to it.

"Shit, that _hurts."_

"Well, now you know it's real," Arthur replied stiffly. "Come _on,_ let's go." Eames fell off of the table and Arthur had to catch him so he wouldn't hit the floor face first. "Goddammit, Eames," Arthur snarled. "We don't have much of a window here and I _won't_ let Ariadne get caught in this because of you."

That got him to force his feet to move. "What'd they do?" he asked, his tongue feeling thick and fuzzy in his mouth.

"We need to call Yusuf," Ariadne said worriedly, coming to Eames' other side. He hated that he had to lean on her tiny frame, but he couldn't make his own body work right. He dimly remembered Yusuf saying there were side effects to Milton's protocol, things that left the brain a mushy mess.

He was only dimly conscious as they left the fort, bodies strewn along the hallway. He hadn't recalled that many bodies when he had been going through the halls with Gray, but supposed that reinforcements had been called when he and Eden were caught. "Did they get away?" he rasped as Arthur manhandled him into a car. Ariadne was behind the wheel, and she drove through the streets at Arthur's direction, a map and flashlight perched in his lap.

"Who?" Ariadne asked, making a turn that led them out of Old Town.

"Eden. Shelley. I saw them kill Pascal and Gray." Eames tried to clear his head and sit up, and Arthur spun around and shoved him back down across the seat. "Oi!"

"Sit your ass down, Eames. We're not out of Kenya yet. Let's not get shot, all right?"

"Be nice," Ariadne hissed at Arthur, picking up a little speed as they got onto one of the main roads. She maneuvered them around to the highway leading to the airport. "Half his team just died, Arthur."

"I'll feel better when we're _gone,"_ Arthur replied, folding up the map. "The way's pretty straightforward from here on out." He took out his cell phone and started dialing. "I'll have the plane ready when we get there."

"I don't know where the others are," Ariadne said, risking a glance behind her. He saw the sympathetic twist to her lips and the soft light in her eyes before she turned back around. "I had Arthur keep an eye on you. I was worried."

"Sorry," Eames mumbled, his eyes falling shut. There were still sedatives in his system, and he felt groggy and sick. Fucking protocol that Milton used. "I didn't mean to. I wanted to keep you out of this." He opened his eyes and looked at Ariadne, hoping she would believe how sincere he was if she looked behind her.

"Good news is, I think that covered everyone," Arthur intoned. Ariadne shot him an annoyed look, which Eames was gratified to see. "What? That's what they wanted. They wanted to use him to kill the entire sleeper cell and didn't care who was hurt in the process. Did you really think I wanted to be part of this?"

"Arthur..."

"Wait," Eames said suddenly, jerking fully awake. "Calliope. She was there. Tall, dreads, shacked up with Milton. Did you see her?"

"Yeah," Arthur admitted, turning around to look at Eames. "Right before I shot her in the head."

"Oh." Eames settled into the backseat. "Oh."

"Girlfriend?" Arthur snarked, lip curled to needle Eames.

He was too tired to rise to the bait. He merely shook his head. "I thought she was dead. Turned out she wasn't. Fucked with me."

"You're safe now," Ariadne said firmly. She glanced at Arthur and shook her head firmly when Arthur opened his mouth to speak. "Not now, Arthur, please. Let him rest. Let's just get in the air, go someplace safe and see if we need Yusuf's help to make him better."

Arthur sighed and slid his hand along her leg. "All right." He gave her leg a squeeze. "Everything will be ready. Just rest, Inspector."

"Thank you," Eames said honestly, exhaustion in his tone. "I know you didn't have to help me."

Arthur turned around to look at Eames, an almost pained expression on his face. He looked at the back of Ariadne's head, then back at Eames. "Yes, I did."

***

Eames came to in an unfamiliar bed. He had been stripped to his boxers and placed between soft sheets. The room was spare, but there was a quiet elegance about it and sunlight streaming in through gaps in the curtains on the windows. He threw the covers aside and pushed himself to a seated position, swaying a little until his head cleared. He pulled the curtain aside and looked out over a wide manicured lawn. This had to be where Arthur and Ariadne lived.

He found fresh clothes in his size in the dresser, tags still attached. He pulled them off in irritation then started wandering through the house. It was large but quietly opulent, the sort of place that would be in a decorating magazine. He heard music and followed it to its source; Arthur and Ariadne were dancing in the den, music playing on the stereo. She was in a summer dress, her legs and feet bare. Arthur was in jeans and a loose T shirt, feet also bare, his arms wrapped around Ariadne as they swayed in time to the music.

Whatever he had thought of the two of them together, tenderness hadn't really been part of it.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, watching them dance, but Ariadne noticed him first. She didn't pull away from Arthur, though she faltered in her step, alerting Arthur. "You're up. Thank god. It's been almost a day."

"How did I get here?" he rasped, knowing he had no totem to check if this was reality.

"One of the perks of owning my own company," Arthur began, a slightly imperious note to his voice, "is that I have my own plane. We got you out of Kenya, did a few switches to make it look like you went to South Africa, and we're actually here at my villa in Italy."

"You probably need to eat something," Ariadne said, moving forward and catching his hands in hers. "Let's fix up something you can tolerate, okay?"

It was almost comfortable with the three of them in the breakfast nook of the kitchen as Ariadne warmed up some leftover soup. She started talking about a job that she and Arthur had gotten involved in so that she could practice her architecture skills. When no judgment seemed to be forthcoming on Eames' part, Arthur seemed to unwind a little bit and stop sitting there so stiffly. Ariadne pressed a fond kiss to his cheek as she passed him to give Eames the soup, and Eames let out a little sigh.

"I suppose I should apologize," Eames began slowly, looking at Arthur. "Mind you, you're still a lying sack of shit for what you pulled at the Bureau. But you're not a dick to Ariadne."

Ariadne sighed heavily as Arthur leaned back in his chair, amused. "After all that happened, did you really think I would be?"

"You played mind games with the lot of us. What was I supposed to think?"

"I love her," Arthur said firmly as Ariadne said a quiet "Eames" to settle him down. "It was never about _you,_ okay? It was always about keeping her safe. I didn't want her involved in the damned things they have you do." Arthur clasped Ariadne's hand tightly in his and looked from their hands to Eames. "Cobb would have broken her, you know that. He didn't care what it was doing to her. I haven't had to do anything since then. The Network's been silent, and there's been no one to look into on that front."

"All the while we were worried about her..."

"I told you, you were looking too hard for something that wasn't there," Arthur said. There wasn't any triumph in his tone; if there had been, Eames might not have been able to hold back from punching him in the face. "You couldn't see past your own perspective."

"Listen, it's done," Ariadne said firmly. "There's no point in rehashing this. It's over, and we can't go back to change anything."

Eames had missed that no nonsense way she had about her. He had missed just having someone to talk to, really, as his current partner at the Yard was an utter stick in the mud. They worked well together on cases, but there was no flair or personality, no _joie de vivre._ Eames really liked playing off of that.

"You're right," he admitted with a sigh, scrubbing at his jaw tiredly.

"I'm just glad you're all right," Ariadne said, reaching out to grasp his hand tightly. "You had me worried, Eames." She blinked back tears threatening to form, and Arthur rubbed her back gently in support. "You know, for a while there, I thought it was all my fault. If I'd said something sooner to let you know I was okay, I wouldn't worry you. Or instead of waiting for you to come to me this time, if I just called you and let you know I was okay. That there was nothing else going on, that we were just together because we wanted to be..."

"Listen," Eames interrupted, shaking his head. "I'm not going to break up anything that works. I just want you happy, Ariadne. You're one of the few friends I have left in the world. Which is pretty sad, if you consider we'd only known each other for about a year, right?"

Ariadne snorted. "Time isn't the measure of a friendship."

"You can stay here as long as you need to," Arthur said in a quiet tone. "No one knows about your affiliation with us, so no one would think to look here."

"Saito knows we know each other."

"It's not like you've spoken with him lately," Arthur pointed out. "Not to mention there are guards and all sorts of security options on this house. It only _looks_ peaceful. I have a full staff on alert at all times when I'm here, we do daily sensor sweeps, and my secretary is constantly on alerts for mentions about me in any capacity. If your name shows up next to mine, we have time to move."

Eames blinked in surprise. "Damn. No wonder we never caught you."

Arthur smirked. "You weren't supposed to. The point is, you're off the grid now. As far as everyone's concerned, you could've been killed in Mombasa."

"Again," Eames intoned darkly.

"You surfaced last time," Arthur pointed out. "You don't have to this time."

"What are you saying?" Eames asked, looking at him in confusion.

"You can stay with us," Ariadne said, leaning across the table a little in her exuberance. "You'd be safe. You'd be with us, safe and sound, and you can go back when you're ready. You don't have to look over your shoulder so much."

It sounded tempting. God, after the past two weeks, it was so very tempting. And the serial killer he had been chasing had been an utter bitch to figure out, so he was almost thankful right now that Mayhew had someone else on that case.

"Don't make any snap decisions," Arthur said, interrupting Eames' thoughts. He got up and looked over the two of them. "In any case, I'm going to do that sensor sweep I talked about."

"Want me to come with?" Ariadne asked, looking up at Arthur.

"You can talk for a bit, if you like. I won't be long."

Eames watched the two of them kiss tenderly, only partially jealous. They had gotten so close in such a short time, and they had each other. That was the part he was jealous of. He had nothing waiting for him in London.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ariadne asked quietly. "What happened with her, I mean?"

"Darling, that's a whole lot of 'don't go there,'" he said, stirring his soup tiredly. "It was a long time ago, and I'm not even sure how much of it was real now."

"What was it then?"

Eames looked up at her with a wry smile. "We worked a lot together. Her and me and Max and Chester. Max was all business, all the time. The rest of us, we messed around some. We were a good team, and it all went to shit seven years ago."

"So you're going to tell me about it?" Ariadne prodded.

"Did you want to tell me about what it was like for you as a kid?" he returned.

She sucked in a breath and leaned back in her chair. "That painful?"

"Yeah. Especially in retrospect."

"So you loved her a lot?"

"No, actually. Not like that." He looked back at his soup. "Maybe if I did, I would have fought harder to get back to Mombasa, see if she was really dead. Maybe if I did, it wouldn't have turned out this way."

"Or maybe you'd be dead, too, and we'd never have met."

Eames looked up at her soft words. "You think?"

"You never can tell where you're going to go," she said, reaching across the table to grasp his hand tightly. He squeezed her hand back, feeling comforted that at least he had this. At least she was safe, that not everything he had ever cared for had fallen apart. Ariadne smiled at him encouragingly. "Sometimes, it's all about who you know."

His breath froze in his chest. "What?"

She frowned at his reaction. "Did I say something wrong?"

"What did you mean by that?"

"I meant that our lives change so much sometimes because of who you meet. Like with me and Arthur. Or even how fast we got to be friends." She frowned at him and grasped his arm tightly. "What did you think I meant?"

"That... Everyone there kept saying that I was being hung out to dry because of who I knew, because MI6 was scared of me. I've been off the grid for a long time. I can't imagine why everyone thinks I'm so sodding important."

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Ariadne said with a shrug. "But I know that you're important to _me._ I'd be upset if anything happened to you."

"You have Arthur," Eames responded immediately, shaking his head and stirring his soup. "You don't need me."

"Oh, Eames." He looked up at her gusty sigh. "I want to seriously hurt whoever made you think that way," she said with a sad tone. "C'mon, eat up. I'll take you on a tour, if you want."

Eames looked at her in surprise, not sure what the hell was going on. "Ariadne..."

She got up and started rifling through cabinets. "Do you want crackers? Like those little fried noodle things they always gave us at that Chinese food place? It's not the same as getting actual food in China, but man, I miss those little cracker noodle things."

He smiled, as he was sure she wanted him to. "Crackers are fine, Ariadne."

She got a box of saltines and brought them to the table. She munched on a few as he crumbled them into his soup. It was a companionable kind of silence, one that Eames had missed more than he had realized. "He's good to you? Arthur, I mean?"

"Yeah. He really is." Ariadne shifted her seat around the table so that she could lean her head on his shoulder. "I know you worry. I'm sorry about that, really I am. I do love him, Eames." She looked up at him and looped an arm around his shoulders. "It's... complicated, I guess. Given how we met and all. But I really do love him."

"It would make for an awkward 'How We Met' story at cocktail parties, sure."

Ariadne laughed, pressing her face against his shoulder as her entire body shook with the force of her laughter. Grinning, Eames slung an arm around her shoulders. "I missed you, Ariadne. It was strange in DC without you, and even London seemed off. Which is strange, given we hadn't even known each other a long time."

"Sometimes people just click." She shrugged. "You can't explain it. But it happens." She pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, her lips cool and dry against his stubble. "I'd say you and Arthur are my best friends right now. So I'm glad you're here with us. I'm glad you're all right."

Eames nodded and closed his hand over hers. "Me, too."

***  
***


	6. Looking For The Shortcut Home

Eames felt out of sorts, but he chalked it up to residual effects of the drugs Milton must have given him. He was dizzy at odd moments, or felt a pounding headache as if someone was drilling into his skull. Arthur took pity on him and brewed tea so he could take aspirin. "They fucked you up pretty badly," he said, a little reluctantly. It was as if he didn't want to admit that he felt sorry for Eames. It reminded him of the times he had interacted with Arthur at the Hoover building, going over notes or security tapes. He hadn't been a complete wanker then, just when he revealed himself as the Dream Killer.

He dry swallowed the aspirin, not even waiting for the tea. Eames grimaced at the taste and looked up at Arthur. "This is what you wanted to keep her safe from. You were right."

Arthur sighed and took the kettle off of the stove. "Look. This isn't what I had hoped would happen, all right? You're her friend and she cares about you." He poured the tea slowly, letting the tea bag steep for a moment before putting the cup in front of Eames. "I've been keeping an eye on you as a favor to her."

"Does she know?"

Arthur shook his head and sat down across from Eames. "I didn't want her worrying about you. It's hard enough, picking up and leaving everything behind, learning something new. I don't kid myself that it's a huge transition for her. I don't want her regretting that decision."

"So you're not a complete bastard," Eames murmured, pulling out the tea bag and placing it on the saucer. "Still a psychopath."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "If not for that, you might not be alive right now. We have no idea what else they were planning to do to you."

Eames pulled a face and stared at his tea cup. "Yeah." He looked up after a moment. "The odd part about all this is that I really have no idea what they wanted. I'm not a player on the scene like they are. I'm not involved in anything."

"But you used to be. They must be looking for someone you used to work with, someone else still alive, maybe. I can look, if you want."

He scrubbed his jaw tiredly. "It was easier to hate you when I thought you were a complete rotter," he sighed. "Like this... We could've been friends if this all happened differently."

Arthur let out a bark of startled laughter. "I could say the same about you, Inspector." He sobered after a moment. "Things were fine for the most part. But where Ariadne is concerned, that's where it changes. I will never allow her to get involved in this kind of thing."

"You might not be able to help it, if you're doing mind crime."

"I'm talking about international espionage. I'm talking about the kind of people that will put a bullet in your brain for just existing, let alone what you can do." Arthur fixed Eames with a steady gaze. "I don't pretend to be a saint, but I will move heaven and earth to keep her safe. I will take out anyone and anything to be sure she never gets hurt. If that makes me a psychopath, so be it."

Eames sipped the tea to think of a reply. He decided to go with honesty. "I want the same thing. She's one of the few friends I've got left."

"Then I guess we're going to get along," Arthur said, nodding.

Eames grasped Arthur's wrist when he got up to leave. "I just need to know... Did you do anything to her?" he asked, insistent. "Did you change her mind somehow? Did you _make_ her do it?"

Though Arthur clearly had to control his impulse to shove Eames away, he finally settled on closing his hand over Eames'. "I showed her the truth. I showed her the pain of the victims, how callous Bruss and people like him are. She's the one that picked up the knife. I never forced her to do that. I never made her do anything she didn't want to do. I never even asked her to help me do it. She _volunteered_ and wouldn't take no for an answer. There's no justice for them, Inspector. There is no crime, so there's nothing to prosecute, nothing to punish. Ariadne joined me of her own free will. I promise you that."

Mollified, Eames let go of Arthur's wrist. "She's special, Arthur."

"I know she is."

Eames looked down into his tea cup. "So now what?"

"For you? Heal," Arthur replied with a shrug. "You can stay here as long as you like. We took out as much of the cell that was there, and it actually showed up on the news. No explanation, of course, just a terrorist hit at Fort Jesus, no details. Your government is probably writing you off as dead."

Feeling hollow, Eames nodded. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said abruptly, making Eames look up at him. "You gave them your entire life, and there's nothing left to give now. It's... I know how that feels. Because you're important to Ariadne, I'm sorry."

Eames nodded and watched Arthur leave the kitchen. He felt wrung out and tired, as if he had been pulled apart and put back together all wrong.

Maybe it was just as well the British government thought he was dead. He was too tired to be Inspector Eames right now.

***

Eames somehow got lost in the villa, confusing hallways for each other. It felt like a maze at times, though it could have possibly been the pounding headache he still had despite the aspirin. He thought he could hear Ariadne's voice, and followed it. He stopped short when he saw Arthur lying sprawled across the couch in the den, pants dragged down to his ankles and legs splayed wide. Ariadne bent over him, his cock in her mouth, one hand cradling his balls and the other scratching lightly along the insides of Arthur's thighs. Arthur's head was thrown back, his mouth open as he gasped for breath, and Ariadne made little happy humming noises as she sucked on him. Eames knew he should have turned around and gone back the way he came, but he couldn't help but still watch from the doorway.

"That's so good," Arthur moaned. "Wanna be inside you."

Ariadne pulled back and tucked her hair behind her ears, grinning at him. "Are you sure? I was really getting into it." Arthur let out an incoherent moan and Ariadne wriggled out of her panties. Lifting the skirt of her dress, she straddled his waist and guided him into her. She let out a soft satisfied sound and began to rock against him slowly. Arthur's hands came to her waist, pulling her close. She took one of his hands and put it to her breast, and he fondled her through the dress. "Like that," she said, her voice breathy. Eames was half hard watching them, and had to grip the doorway tightly in response to the sound of her voice.

He couldn't close his eyes, couldn't turn away. He'd never been much into voyeurism before, but it was beautiful watching them. He dragged himself away when Ariadne came with a cry, her head thrown back and eyes closed in ecstasy. Eames managed to find a bathroom to stagger into and jerk off. He could hear them in the back of his head, could see their expressions behind his closed eyes.

He felt vaguely dirty; he shouldn't be thinking of his best friend this way. It wasn't that kind of a friendship. He never had that kind of interest in her before.

He had to leave the villa before he did or said something stupid.

***

"I'm going to need to leave," Eames told them over dinner. He had gone through the house, but didn't want to take any of the cars in the garage. He didn't know exactly where he was, and didn't believe that any of Arthur's staff would help him leave the house without Arthur's explicit say so.

Ariadne looked at him in shock. "You're not even better yet. Your headaches..."

"It's safer if I go," Eames said, aware that he still had the remnants of a headache despite the aspirin he had taken. He was a mess, inside and out, but he couldn't do this to her. He couldn't drag her down with him.

Arthur looked at him in concern, brows furrowed. It was uncomfortable to be under that kind of scrutiny from him. "It's not a security risk, if that's what you're talking about. We weren't followed, and everyone here is on alert just in case. No one would be able to get to you here. This is probably the safest place for you right now."

"Eames, don't go," Ariadne murmured, shaking her head. "It's too dangerous for you right now. If we missed any of those cell members, they'd be after you in a heartbeat. You don't even know who to look for."

Eames bowed his head slightly and massaged his temples. "I know, but I need to go. I can't keep you both at risk like this."

"It's a calculated risk," Arthur said in a reasonable tone. "I'm the security expert, remember? Of all people, I'd know if this was safe or not."

 _It's not safe if I want to fuck you both,_ he thought, then was startled by it. Where had that come from?

"Look. Give it more time," Ariadne pleaded. "We can protect ourselves from this, Eames. Don't worry about us. Is that why you have that headache? Idiot." She shook her head and shot him a rueful smile. "Honestly, that macho bullshit is going to get you killed."

He wished that was all it was.

"I don't have much of an appetite," Eames said abruptly, pushing back from the table. If anything, it only made Ariadne more concerned. "Before you ask, no, it's not a concussion."

Both Ariadne and Arthur were looking at him in concern. "You don't like needing people, do you?" Arthur asked, entirely too perceptive for Eames' peace of mind.

"I'm just going to go lie down," Eames said, shaking his head. He regretted it, because the room see-sawed a little in response to the movement. Perhaps he really should have eaten something. He couldn't remember the last time he had anything substantial. Probably the soup and tea from that morning. Shit, no wonder he felt weak.

Arthur sighed and pushed Eames down into the chair. "Just eat dinner, will you? That'll get Ariadne to stop worrying."

It was a cheap shot, but it worked. Eames methodically worked his way around the plate, half listening to Ariadne talking about a job that they had done recently. By the end of the meal, he felt almost human, and his headache was gone. "Will you stay if I tuck you in?" Ariadne teased.

"Would you really?" he asked before he could help it. Ariadne smiled and gave him a tight hug. After a moment, Eames allowed himself to melt into her embrace and fold his arms around her tiny shoulders. "You would, wouldn't you?"

She made a pleased humming sound that only reminded him of her body curled over Arthur's and his look of ecstasy. Shit.

"I'll even read you a bedtime story, if you want," Ariadne teased, not noticing his discomfort. "Maybe one of Arthur's books on security technology. The dream ones are interesting, but the other stuff just gets way too intense."

Eames smiled as she hoped he would, and let her lead him through the hallways back to the bedroom he was given. She wasn't embarrassed in the slightest by him starting to unbutton his shirt. "Uh... Ariadne. You really don't have to stay for this."

"You looked like you were going to fall over. I want to be sure I'm not leaving you ready to fall onto your face on the floor."

"It's not that bad," he insisted.

"Okay, maybe you don't think it is. But it _looks_ that way. Will you allow that much?"

It was easier not to argue. He simply handed her the shirt when he took it off and started on the belt buckle. She tossed the shirt aside and started rifling through the dresser drawers, her back to him for some semblance of privacy. "What are you looking for?"

"I thought Arthur got you pajamas," she said, looking through the shirts, pants, underwear and boxers. "I guess he forgot."

"It's fine. I sleep in boxers, anyway."

Ariadne was true to her word in tucking him in. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, her hand resting gently on his chest. "Look. I know you probably have some misguided thought that you need to protect me from whatever it is that's going on. I was a capable agent not that long ago. I'm not made of glass. Don't shut me out, Eames."

He closed his hand over hers with a sigh. "You have Arthur. You don't need me in your life mucking it up."

"You've gotten over how we met, haven't you? That's why you wrote to me."

"He wanted me to," Eames admitted.

"But I know you. You're a stubborn bastard. If you were really that angry and disappointed in me, you wouldn't have. You would've told him fuck you and gone on your merry way." She laughed at his affronted look. "What? You would've!"

"Okay, maybe."

"Definitely."

Eames smiled at her, feeling the tightness in his chest ease. This was Ariadne. She was his friend, and whatever chemicals Milton had used fucking with his system wouldn't change that. He felt better already, and he would be fine in the morning. He was just feeling out of sorts, and that's all the earlier desire was about.

"Good night, Eames," Ariadne murmured, leaning over to kiss his forehead tenderly. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah. Me, too."

He watched her leave and stared at the ceiling. If only he hadn't seen that today. It was hard not to think about it or hear the way her breath fractured as Arthur moved inside of her. Would it do the same thing if he was buried inside of her?

No. That way led to trouble. She was his friend, and he would rather cut out his own heart than harm her or lose that friendship.

Troubled, he slept.

***

Ariadne was swimming laps in the pool, limbs long and streamlined as she moved through the water. Arthur was texting on his cell phone, sunglasses perched on his nose. He was leaning forward on the chaise, frowning at it. Eames approached slowly, not sure if he was ready to suggest leaving them again. Arthur looked up and then back down at his phone. "Someone put a hit out on Mayhew," Arthur said without preamble. "I'm suppressing it as best as I can. I think I'm going to need to have Sharlene call him and get him out for a while."

"What?" Eames sat heavily on a chaise beside Arthur. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone is trying to do a very neat job of isolating you, Inspector." There was no mockery in his tone. "I don't like this."

"Mayhew's just my boss."

"He's deflected attention from you a few times." Arthur texted something else and then looked up. "He's protected you as much as he could in Scotland Yard, and I think someone's taking exception to that. I'd put money on Milton, if only because he would have had access to set something in motion."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's been involved in this sleeper cell for years at least. That's the way they operate. Pick a target, isolate them, raid them for secrets."

"I don't have any!"

"He obviously thinks you do, so that's irrelevant," Arthur said dismissively. It rankled to be treated like yet another security case, but Eames had to admit that this was what Arthur did best in his real world consulting. "We assume that something's there and move on. Keeping you safe is one priority. Keeping everyone safe around you and close to you is another priority."

"Max and Yusuf are the only other ones I care about."

"Yusuf's protected by the Bureau. Saito's not going to let anything happen on that front, so he's safe. Max is good enough to know when to run."

"But Mayhew isn't," Eames murmured. "But why would someone think I'd go to him?"

"He's visible, he has connections and you were in the middle of a case when you left to take care of this cell."

"It's a serial killing. What would that have to do with international espionage?"

"I don't know, but that doesn't mean there isn't some connection. It just means I need to dig further to find it."

"Fuck," Eames said with feeling.

"Yeah. Pretty much," Arthur agreed.

"So I'm stuck here."

"So it would seem," Arthur said with a nod. He turned and watched Ariadne swim. "You have feelings for her."

Eames looked at him in surprise, panic blooming in his chest. "She's my best friend."

"That's not a no."

"That's a shut the fuck up, is what that is," Eames snarled. "I've left her alone about being with you, haven't I?"

"It's all right if you are," Arthur said reasonably, looking at him intently. "Because that means you won't do anything stupid like leave to rescue Mayhew on your own."

"Sod off," Eames snarled at Arthur, shifting to rise to his feet.

Arthur's hand shot out lightning fast to pull him down into a seated position again. "Don't. Don't lie and tell me you won't do anything like that, because that's who you are. You bend over backward for the ones you consider yours, and that's going to get you killed."

Eames pulled at his arm, but Arthur only held on tighter. "Let go."

"Not if you run," he said, eyes boring into Eames' face. "Not if you leave her wondering if you're dead. I mean it. You're important to her, so you're important to me. I won't let you go haring off to do something stupid when I have perfectly capable people who can get him out without implicating you."

"I don't..." He trailed off at Arthur's steady gaze. He couldn't even say that nothing would happen; everything had gone wrong in Mombasa. Again. "She has you. She doesn't need me."

"Get it through your thick skull," Arthur began. "It's not just you here. It's more than just whatever they want from you. What do _you_ want?"

Ariadne. Maybe with Arthur. He didn't know anymore.

Arthur slowly let go of Eames' arm. They were both aware of the livid red mark on his arm. "Take this time to figure out what you want. Do you even want to go back to Scotland Yard? Do you want to be pulled in whenever MI6 decide they want your services?"   
Eames rubbed his jaw tiredly. "It's what I know. Why do you do security?" he asked sarcastically.

"Because I can make a difference. I keep people safe, that's my bottom line. What's yours?" Arthur asked, looking at him intently.

 _Ariadne,_ he thought, though he wasn't sure if that even made sense. They only met less than a year ago. How could she be so vital to him?

Arthur's hand fell to Eames' shoulder as he stood. "I meant it. You can stay here as long as you need to. You need to stay safe for her sake."

Eames watched Arthur pull off his shirt and dive into the pool to do laps alongside Ariadne. He rubbed at his face, not sure what the hell he wanted to do. After a while he looked up and watched the two of them swimming, laughing and splashing at each other. He got up, intending to head back into the villa, but his movement caught Ariadne's eye. She waved him toward the pool. "Eames! Join us!"

"Haven't a suit, darling," he called out. "I'm just going to head in."

"Don't be a spoil sport," Ariadne laughed. "It's a heated pool."

"More tempting," Eames allowed, coming closer. "But I still don't have a suit."

Arthur was close to where Eames was standing, so he swam over and pulled at Eames' legs as he said "You don't need one." Eames toppled into the pool, arms wind milling about for balance before he fell. Arthur was smirking, the bastard, but Ariadne was laughing at him delightedly.

It was fun, splashing about the pool with them, dunking Arthur under the water and racing Ariadne across the pool's length. Some part of him knew that he couldn't expect this to go on, that she would get wise to the fact that his feelings had changed into something different. Arthur could see it. Why couldn't she?

After dinner, he found a bag in the back of a closet in a guest bedroom. Taking that, he started packing all the clothes Arthur had bought for him. He didn't know where he was going to go without any ID or money, but he had to get out. He was going to go insane and do something stupid, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing Ariadne.

"Were you even going to tell me goodbye?" Ariadne asked from the doorway, her voice quiet with hurt.

Eames looked up, almost ashamed, then resumed packing. "It's better this way, Ariadne," he said firmly. "You'd do better without me."

"Arthur told me. That you didn't say no when he asked if you loved me."

"Wanker doesn't know what he's talking about," Eames said, shoving a pair of pants viciously into the bag. He was vaguely aware that he was shaking as she stepped into the room, that if he stopped to think about this, he would scream and punch a hole in the wall.

"Doesn't he?" Ariadne laid a hand on his shoulder and pulled him around to face her. He didn't pull away, but couldn't meet her eyes. "Can't you tell me yourself?"

"Doesn't matter, now does it? You've got Arthur and this perfect life here, and it's all settled. I'm the one out of sorts. I'm the one fucking it all up. You can stop worrying about me, Ariadne. I did fine without you, I'll be fine again."

Ariadne grabbed his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. Eames responded before he realized it, then pushed her away, sputtering. "That's real."

"Goddammit, Ariadne," he cried. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I needed to know," she said softly, watching his expression the whole time.

"No, you really didn't. You really, really didn't," Eames said, nearly snarling. "It would've been better if you didn't, if I didn't think this, if I didn't feel this way, if I hadn't _seen_ you... _Shit,"_ he hissed, catching his fingers in the zippers. "Look at this. You don't _need_ me here. I'd ruin everything."

Her touch was gentle on his shoulder, soothing. He wanted to lean into it, to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her neck and just sob in frustration. His entire romantic history had been one failed relationship after another. It's why being fuck buddies always worked out so much better. No tangled feelings to get hurt, no point in getting his heart ripped to shreds because someone couldn't handle his work hours or disappearing for days at a time. There had been Phillip and Francesca before Calliope and Shelley, and it had all worked itself out. He couldn't see how this could work out.

"Look at me, Eames," Ariadne said, her voice firm. Eames stubbornly refused to, sticking his finger into his mouth to suck at the blister that was no doubt forming. With a sigh, she pulled his hand away from his mouth. "Eames, look at me. Please."

It was the please that did it, and he looked at her earnest expression. "You won't ruin anything. We talked about it a little. We probably need to talk about it a little more, I don't know." She brought his fingers up to her mouth and gently kissed them. "Stay. Please, stay with us."

"You don't know what you're asking," Eames told her with a strained voice. "You can't."

"Maybe I don't. But I'm willing to try. I care too much about you to let you go like this."

He held her tightly, afraid of what would happen if he let her go. "I've lost too much already, Ariadne. I can't lose you, too."

"You won't," she promised. "You would never."

"I always do."

She squeezed him tightly, desperately, and Eames was almost afraid to hope. "Not this time."

***  
***


	7. Coming Together

It was almost gratifying to see Arthur look so nervous. It wasn't anything he said, really, but it was the way his eyes skittered everywhere, or the way he rubbed at his watch strap as Eames talked. _You'd never lose her,_ Eames almost wanted to tell him. _She gave up everything to be with you because she loves you. I'm the interloper here. I'm the one that has the most to lose._ But the words stuck in his throat, and he couldn't force them past his lips.

He was afraid this would fall apart before it even begun, and Eames looked at Ariadne, his heart in his mouth. She seemed so serene, so calm, and it was that same sense of calm that had drawn him to her in the first place. "How is this going to start?" he asked, his voice so vulnerable to his own ears.

"How did it happen before?"

"Alcohol," he replied promptly, a crooked grin on his face at Arthur's start of surprise. "What? You thought I did this sort of thing all the time?"

Arthur laughed, rubbing the back of his head. It made him seem more human, less like a sociopath he had to hunt down and throw into prison. Maybe this was what Ariadne had seen, this side of him that was emotional and almost fun. He could almost understand it; almost, because there was still the memory of his dark and stony expression, those eyes boring into him in Ariadne's basement that day, and the sensation that Arthur would have cheerfully slit his throat if he dared step out of line.

"Maybe?" Arthur conceded. "I don't know. You had told Ariadne..."

Eames looked at her, and she shrugged. "I tell Arthur everything."

"It was alcohol and adrenaline and maybe something herbal," Eames said with a laugh. "We were almost shot to death, and it was me and Calliope and Chester afterward, Max passed the fuck out from the booze, and it just _happened..."_ Eames' expression died slowly. "Look, this is a bad idea..."

"No," Ariadne said, shaking her head. "You had to have feelings first, right? It wasn't just booze. When you talked about it, it sounded like it happened more than once."

"Yes, but the first time wasn't awkward because of the booze..."

"Then we need booze," Ariadne declared. She hopped up quickly and headed out of the den to where the liquor would be stored.

Eames and Arthur merely looked at each other. "This is really fucking awkward," Eames said, breaking the ice.

"Yeah." Arthur looked at him closely. "You've done this with guys, then." Eames nodded easily enough. "I haven't."

"Didn't figure you for the type."

"The mechanics are obvious," Arthur began tentatively as Ariadne returned with tequila and three glasses. "But..."

Eames took pity on Arthur. "You don't have to do this, you know. It's fine. I'll just go."

"No," they both said at once. Eames was startled; as uncomfortable as Arthur was, his denial was just as forceful as Ariadne's. "We'll figure it out. It can't be that hard, right?" Arthur offered. Ariadne beamed at both of them, and Eames' heart tripped in his chest at the sight of it.

Somewhere between the second and third shots, Arthur stopped looking as worried about the whole thing happening. Ariadne suggested a striptease to go along with the shots, and somewhere along the way Eames found himself kissing Arthur with Ariadne's amused approval. Falling over onto the floor, Eames felt the press of Ariadne's hands against his bare shoulders, felt her kiss her way along the taut muscle. He shuddered beneath her hands, and rolled over onto his back. She straddled his waist, only thin cotton panties separating them. Eames rubbed her through the cotton with one hand, watching her arch into his touch. Her hands dug into his hips and she looked at both Eames and Arthur. She was wet and Eames was more than ready. He reached for Arthur, who was kneeling beside his head. "All at once, then?" he asked, a curl in his lip. The anticipation was delicious, and he could almost taste their arousal.

Arthur's eyes were locked with Ariadne's. "Yes."

Ariadne shimmied out of her panties as Eames tugged on Arthur to get him completely bare. His reticence all but disappeared at the feel of Eames' mouth over him and Ariadne's hands on his shoulders. "Damn," Arthur gasped, leaning back into Ariadne's touch. She sank down over him slowly, teasingly, one hand at Arthur's shoulder. She then leaned forward, her forehead against Arthur's back, her hands trailing down his sides to rest against his hips, her fingers threading through Eames'. Her knees bumped against Arthur's feet, and she shifted slightly. Eames let out a groan as she shifted over him. He sucked harder on Arthur, taking him deeper into his throat as Ariadne settled into a slow rhythm. "Do that again," Arthur moaned. "Whatever you did to him, do it again."   
She shifted her hips again, fingers tightening over Arthur's hips. Both men groaned in pleasure, and she smiled against Arthur's back. "Good, then?"

"God, yes," he moaned, moving one hand down to rest it over Ariadne's. His other was at Eames' shoulder for balance, and his fingers tightened around the bones there. "Oh my god, I didn't think... This..." he gasped, breath fracturing.

Eames sucked harder on Arthur, running his tongue up and down his length. He pulled Arthur's hips closer, pulling him away from Ariadne. It upset her balance, and she stuttered slightly over Eames. She readjusted her position, taking her hands from Arthur's hips and running them along his back. She moved hard and fast, feeling Eames jerk and twitch inside her, and she could hear her own moans.

Somehow this didn't seem strange at all, that of course the three of them would have ended up this way. Of course Eames would have loved them both. Of course they would be willing to try this to see if it worked. Of course.

Arthur was bitter and salty in his mouth when he came, and Ariadne was tight and hot and wet as she fluttered around him. Arthur was curled on his side watching Eames push Ariadne onto her back so he could slide inside her. Arthur cradled her face in his hands and kissed her, a hand tangled in her hair as Eames pounded into her. He pulled her legs high up and around his waist, making his strokes fall deeper into her. She moaned so prettily in Arthur's mouth, a hand clutching his shoulders while the other was threaded through Eames'. They were tied together somehow, the three of them, and when Eames came with a shout, it all seemed to click into place.

They lay on the floor afterward, a tangle of limbs and breaths. "So... Now that the awkwardness is out of the way..." Ariadne began, a smile in her voice.

Arthur laughed, his face tucked against her shoulder. "Maybe not such a bad idea. Definitely worth trying again."

Eames found himself smiling, and he moved so that he knelt between them, stroking both of them fondly. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?" Ariadne asked, looking up at him in confused exhaustion.

"For not giving up on me."

Her smile was heartbreakingly beautiful, and Arthur rolled his eyes as if Eames was an idiot. "As if we could do anything else," he snorted.

It was a perfect moment, one Eames would cherish forever.

***

"I want to see you two dance," Ariadne said, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"I don't dance," Arthur said as Eames looked at him in interest.

"You do with me," she pointed out, pulling him out into the middle of the living room. Music was playing in the background, something fast and easy to dance to. She pulled him flush against her, a wide grin on her face, and he put his arms around her. He wasn't as reluctant as he looked, and they both knew it. Ariadne beckoned Eames to come along and dance along with them, and he did as she asked. "My two favorite men in all the world," she said happily, leaning her head on Arthur's shoulder.

Eames slid into place behind Ariadne and Arthur moved his arms to take in Eames as well. Eames swayed along with the two of them, eyes closed to better feel them pressed up against him. At some point, Ariadne ducked out, leaving Arthur and Eames together to dance. He opened his eyes and looked at Arthur with a satisfied smirk. "Sure you don't dance?" he asked Arthur, who seemed embarrassed.

"I'm not that good," he said, looking over at Ariadne in frustration.

"Doing a good job at the moment, Arthur," Eames murmured, letting his hand slide down Arthur's back. For a moment, he thought Arthur was going to break out of his embrace and run, but Arthur let out a sigh and stayed where he was. "Too awkward?"

"Too I don't know," he admitted. He gave Eames an almost shy smile. "I didn't expect to like it as much as I did."

"Same with me my first time with a bloke," Eames said with a laugh. He moved to spin out Arthur in a circle, startling him. "It is what it is, yeah? Whatever feels good."

Arthur spun into Ariadne, who caught him and laughingly pressed her lips against his. He looped his arms around her and spun her around, lifting her off of her feet. Shrieking with laughter, she clung to him and pressed her face against his shoulder. "I'm gonna fall!"

"Not with us both here," Arthur said. He looked over at Eames, watching them. "Right?"

Eames came forward, his hands on her waist. "Right."

Ariadne pressed a kiss against Arthur's lips and giggled as Eames' hands hit a ticklish spot. She wound up twisting and writhing between them, trying to get away from the tickling, laughing all the while. The two men staggered, trying to keep her upright and still tickle her. Eames' hands slid over Arthur's, and he didn't flinch away from the contact. Not sure exactly why, Eames darted forward to steal a kiss. Arthur blinked in surprise, mouth opening beneath Eames', and Ariadne leaned in to press her own lips against the seam of their lips. Eames tilted his head aside to help give her more room to lean in, his tongue sliding across Arthur's lips to touch hers.

Her stomach rumbled, breaking the moment, and they all disengaged with embarrassed laughter. "Lunch time," she declared.

Tensions eased, they set about to having lunch.

***

Arthur was napping on the couch, not interested in the movie Ariadne had chosen to watch after dinner. He had some wine with dinner, and it had made him tired. Eames snuggled close to Ariadne, stroking her arms gently. Her head was lying against his shoulder, her hand resting in his lap. He kissed the top of her head, more absorbed in the feel of her in his arms than the movie. Ariadne looked up, a smile on her face. "You don't like chick flicks either, do you?"

"Not particularly. But this is good. Holding you, I mean."

"You don't have to stay back so much," Ariadne murmured. "It's like you're constantly waiting for permission."

"Shouldn't I be? You were with Arthur first. I don't want to ruin that. I'm the one barging in."

"You're not barging in if we asked you to."

"Arthur is only doing this because he loves you."

"He cares about you, too. He wouldn't try otherwise."

"You're the one he really loves."

Ariadne nodded, not contesting the point. "I love him, too. That's not in doubt here. You're wondering why _I'm_ doing this."

"Well, yeah."

"Because you're important to me. It's not the same as what I feel for Arthur, but I do care. I do love you." Ariadne turned further in his arms to kiss him. "I don't think I knew how much until I found out you were caught and probably killed. I had to know for sure."

Eames traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers. "I don't know what this is, Ariadne. But this is important to me. I don't know what I'd do if I lost this."

"You won't lose us," Ariadne murmured, leaning into his touch. "We'll work it out somehow. We'll be what you need."

Eames kissed her tenderly, hands sliding down her back. Ariadne deepened the kiss, leaning into him and tangling her fingers in his hair. "I need to taste you," he groaned into her mouth.

"What's stopping you?" she asked, not breaking the kiss.

He helped her pull off her jeans and panties, then knelt between her spread thighs. He licked at her folds before moving to suck on her clit, making her gasp. Ariadne grasped the couch tightly in her hands, her head thrown back and eyes shut as he moved his lips and tongue against her. She groaned loudly as he slid his fingers her into her, waking Arthur. He blinked at them sleepily, then frowned and edged closer. Touching Ariadne's hand, Arthur watched Eames lick her with enthusiasm. He moved to kiss her, making her gasp and moan into his mouth as she came, convulsing around Eames' fingers. He kept going, so Arthur slipped his hand beneath her shirt to fondle her breasts.

"Like that," Ariadne gasped, writhing between them.

Eames pulled back and licked the taste of her from his lips. "Do you want us both?" he asked, pushing his fingers farther inside her. "At the same time?"

"I just want," Ariadne whined, hips tilting to allow his fingers to slide deeper into her wet heat. "More," she pleaded.

Smirking, Eames caught Arthur's eye. "You want to fuck Arthur while I fuck you, Ariadne?" He curled his fingers, making her groan louder and clutch at Arthur. "Hm?" He withdrew his fingers, making her nearly sob in frustration, then slid one finger into her backside. "Want me here, darling? Want to feel us both at once?" he asked in a wheedling tone, sliding his finger in and out of her rhythmically to loosen her up. "It'll be fantastic."

"Please," she whined, looking at Arthur, then down at Eames' smug grin. "Please."

"The lady asked nicely," he told Arthur, still working her loose. "You get naked first."

Arthur shed his clothes quickly, hungrily watching Ariadne as she writhed on the couch. Eames had a finger inside her rear and his thumb inside her slit, occasionally leaning forward to run his tongue along her clit. "How would this work?"

"She's in the middle," Eames murmured, pulling away from Ariadne's clit to sit on his haunches. "Pick a comfy spot and we'll arrange ourselves accordingly."

He lay on his back on the floor, and Eames helped an unsteady Ariadne slide to the floor on boneless legs. She slipped out of her clothes and positioned herself on all fours over Arthur, her breathing ragged and her limbs long and loose. Eames kicked off his own clothes, then grasped Ariadne's hips in his large hands. He let them rest on her waist and hip for a moment, enjoying the feel of her skin beneath his hand, then pushed inside of her wet slit. She made a surprised noise, and turned her head to look at him. "Got to get a little wet, Ariadne," he explained. "It'll make this easier."

"Note to self," Arthur murmured as Ariadne sank down over him. "Send Godwin out to buy lube." That made Ariadne laugh, a high and amused bubble that made Eames grin at them as well. "Can you imagine the look on his face when he has to get all that at the drug store?"

"Does he need to get condoms, too?" Eames asked, starting to ease his way into Ariadne.

"I got the depot shots," Ariadne replied, shaking her head. "It feels better this way."

She sucked in a breath and Eames paused. "Should I stop?" he asked, running one hand over her in a soothing gesture. She shook her head, but she was clenching down tightly around his cock and biting her lip. Eames rubbed his hands lightly against her belly and Arthur reached up to flick at her nipples with his fingertips. Between the two of them, she let go of her nerves and relaxed under their touch. Eames moved slowly and steadily, making shallow thrusts that gradually became deeper. Ariadne groaned, head thrown back as she rocked against Arthur and wound up pushing herself further onto Eames. "Easy, love," he murmured into her ear. "Take your time. You feel so bloody good."

Eames slowly shifted the pacing of his own thrusts so that he pushed into Ariadne as she sank down onto Arthur, deepening her down stroke. She cried out as Arthur groaned, his hands tightening on her breasts. Eames steadied her as she came, shivering within his grasp.

Moving faster, Eames urged Ariadne to continue, and she rocked harder against Arthur. "Fuck him hard, Ariadne," Eames said into her ear, lips curling into a sensual smile as Arthur looked up at him in surprise. "Make him come. Make him scream your name."

Arthur tilted his hips up and pulled at Ariadne's nipples. He knew what she liked, and she let out a strangled groan of pleasure. She moved faster, her breath in hitching gasps as she bore down on him. Eames ran his teeth along the edge of her earlobe, his own breath fast as she tightened again with her own impending orgasm. "Like that. Keep going like that, Ariadne. Look at his face. Look at how he wants it, how he wants you," he panted, his own hands tight around her hips. "I want to hear it, hear him come. Fuck, you feel good, Ariadne. I'm so close..."

"Eames," she gasped, shaking her head. "I can't, I can't, I'm almost..."

"You're so fucking delicious, Ariadne," he said, scraping his nails against her skin lightly. She let out another wail, and he could feel her tighten even more. "That's it, I'm almost there."

"Fuck," Arthur growled as Ariadne came, fluttering and tight all around him. It was enough to pull him in after her, and he let out a strangled cry. He looked up at Ariadne's blissful expression and Eames' shuddering gasps into the side of her neck. "Everybody okay?"

"Yeah," Ariadne said, her voice a little shaky. She laughed. "Wow."

Eames merely chuckled, sounding tired. "You understand why it happened more than once, right?" he laughed, stroking Ariadne's hair.

"Definitely," Arthur murmured. He pulled Ariadne close when they untangled themselves, and gave Eames an odd look when he didn't lie down next to them right away. "Get over here."

He settled in next to them, breathing easier than he could remember for a long time. "This could work, then?" he asked Arthur.

Arthur stroked Ariadne's head and let his other hand rest on Eames' chest. She was smiling against Arthur's chest, her hand curled loosely next to her chin. "Yeah. I think so."

They lay on the floor to watch the rest of Ariadne's movie, no awkwardness at all. It felt as if they had been together this way for a thousand years, as if this was how it had always been between the three of them.

Eames let go of his trepidation and reveled in the feel of belonging.

***

Eames liked going down on Ariadne, and she was more than happy to let him do it. She was sprawled across the bed she shared with Arthur, his cock in her mouth and her hands on his thighs. Eames loved how Ariadne tasted, how her thighs trembled next to his ears in response to how he moved his tongue or fingers. He stopped when she came, and tapped on Arthur's back to indicate that he was moving. Arthur had agreed to try fucking Eames, and there was no sign of nervousness on his part this time, only anticipation.

Shifting position so that he hovered over Ariadne's sprawled body, Eames grasped her hip with one hand and guided himself into her with his other. He pushed his length into her, making her groan in pleasure. He moved slowly, eyes closed as he reveled in the feel of her around him.

Arthur slipped lube-slicked fingers to Eames' backside. He shuddered slightly as Arthur worked him open; it had been a long time since he'd been fucked this way. Ariadne gasped when Arthur slammed his length into Eames, pushing him further inside her. Ariadne threw her head back and moaned, fingers tight on Eames' shoulders. Arthur moved hard and fast, pushing Eames' buttons and making him growl in need. Ariadne nearly howled as she came, back arching.

Losing his control, Eames spilled and collapsed onto Ariadne. The shift in position altered the angle of Arthur's thrusts, and he let out a strangled groan as he came. He sagged a little, hands grasping Eames' shoulders tightly to keep his balance.

Having nothing else to do but lie in bed together, they simply sprawled. It was a queen sized bed, which was just barely enough room for them to stretch out. Ariadne curled in between the two men, a pleased smile on her face. Eames had a hand on her hip and Arthur's was lying on her stomach. Her legs were comfortably entwined in theirs, and she slipped to sleep easily.

"Doing okay?" Eames asked Arthur in a soft voice, careful not to wake Ariadne.

"Yeah, I am," he returned, fingers stroking her stomach gently. "I didn't think I would be, but I am. This is comfortable," he murmured, sounding almost surprised.

"Glad I'm not the only one that thinks so."

Arthur gave him a thin smile. "So maybe you're not a selfish asshole."

"And you're not a complete wanker. Still a psychopath."

Lip curling, Arthur nodded. "When it suits me. That's not always a bad thing."

"I'm discovering that," Eames allowed, syllables drawn out of him almost reluctantly. "Is this how it happened, then? You and Ariadne, I mean."

"She knows things about me that no one else does," Arthur said, pressing his lips to her temple in quiet reverence. "I know things about her no one else will. Those are powerful bonds, and they'll never break."

"I wouldn't try, you know."

"I know. You want her happy."

"As long as you keep her happy, you're safe."

"Same for you, Eames."

"And this thing between us, then?" Eames asked after a moment. "How is that going to work?"

"Carefully," Arthur replied. "You're not my type."

Eames had to smile at that. "I think you're my type."

Arthur nearly choked. "What?"

"Yeah. Same as Ariadne: someone I shouldn't want at all. I never go for the sane or easy choices for some reason. Always bit me in the arse before, too."

"Not something I plan to literally do," Arthur replied dryly.

Eames laughed softly. "Good to know."

"If that fuckup in Mombasa never happened, you'd never have told her, would you?"

He looked down at her peaceful face, her hair loose and curling at the edges. "No, I wouldn't have. She deserves better than what happened down there."

"Then you know you can't go back." Eames looked up at Arthur, startled. "If you go back to England and work for Scotland Yard again, you're right back where you were before. Mayhew can protect you as much as he can, but he's not highly placed enough to keep you out of MI6's clutches if they decide they really want you again." Arthur pushed Ariadne's hair away from her face tenderly, fingertips ghosting over her cheek. "You might not get so lucky next time. You might be killed."

"I don't even know why they chose me," Eames replied with a sigh.

"Of course you do," Arthur contradicted him. "It's because you had nothing to lose. You know your way around a dreamscape and you knew the underground and some of the players on the field. They had to know Calliope was involved somehow, that she wasn't really dead. They had to have known that she and Milton were working together, and used your old relationship with Calliope to draw her out."

Eames blew out a breath. "It makes sense."

"You're a pawn to them," Arthur continued in a low voice. "You're expendable, just another cog in the machine. Someone they can break and throw away when they're done with you." His eyes bored into Eames'. "That's why I threatened you before, you know. We couldn't be involved in something like that."

"And now?"

"It's your choice. But if you go back to Scotland Yard, you're going alone."

He suppressed a shiver at the thought of being alone again after this. "Somehow I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"What do you mean?"

Eames covered Arthur's hand on Ariadne's shoulder. "I'm going to stay. I won't go back to the Yard, not like this."

He nodded briskly and didn't pull away from Eames' touch. "Good. I've only just gotten used to you hanging around the villa."

Laughing softly, Eames grinned. Who knew he could actually like Arthur?

"Good night, Arthur."

Arthur's smile was soft and fond, and Eames' heart tripped a little at the sight of it. "Good night, Eames. It's actually good to have you around."

Grinning, Eames settled in to sleep.

***  
***


	8. Lost In Desperation

Eames walked along the villa's grounds, the sun beating down on him. He liked it here, how peaceful it was. There was nothing to indicate that there was trouble beyond the villa's grounds, that there were people out there only too happy to try to kill him. He looked up at the sky, feeling the heat against his face. If he had been in England, it would be cold and he would be working on a case. He would be trying to chase down the demons in human form, trying to find them before they killed again. Mayhew always used to say that he had an uncanny sense about that kind of thing, knowing where to look and what to look for.

Mayhew never knew what Eames used to do for MI6. He never knew about the darkness that he had to wade through. Perhaps he had taken on some of it, and it stained his perceptions of the world. Perhaps he would never really be free of it.

"There you are!"

Eames turned and smiled as he saw Ariadne running across the lawn to catch up with him. "Hey, there. I wasn't going anywhere."

"I know," she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. "But Arthur got a consult call, so he's going to have to head out for work. He's packing now."

Frowning, he looked down at her. "You're not going with him?"

"Not my place to, even if I wanted to. I don't do what he does. It really is a real world contract, nothing untoward in the dreamscape." She laughed at his indignant expression. "You were going to ask, I can tell. Sharlene called him. He was specifically requested, so he's going in. It's a bank in Switzerland he does a lot of work for."

Ah. That explained the node that Eden had been able to trace.

"So it's just going to be me and you tonight. I figured you'd want to say goodbye to Arthur before he left. It should only be a day or two, and he'll come back with presents."

"When do you go off and do something on your own?" Eames asked, eyebrow arched.

Ariadne smiled. "Oh, don't be like that. I did visit my mother the last time he went off to work, and I did some studying with a group of architects in Venice. We're not always attached at the hip these days."

"So it's because of me."

"Well, yes and no. We like being together. And we like being with you. Why wouldn't we want to spend time together? Or with you?" She grasped his arm tightly, pulling it up against her chest as she steered him back toward the villa. "Come on. Not everything needs dire consequences and dread warnings. Sometimes, it really is exactly what it looks like."

"Oh, to be young and careless again," Eames told her wryly.

Ariadne playfully smacked his arm with her other hand. "C'mon, you. Let's give him a goodbye that'll make him want to come home faster."

Eames told himself he didn't care for Arthur the way that Ariadne did. He didn't love him, didn't look forward to being with him, and didn't look at him with desire the way she did. He didn't have to, though. It was enough to see Ariadne's eyes darken in desire as she hovered over his sprawled form, feathering kisses over his forehead and temples, a hand grasping the back of his head to keep him in place. Arthur was playing with one of her breasts with one hand, his other on her hip. Eames knelt between Arthur's spread legs behind Ariadne, his lips along her bared spine and a hand stroking Arthur through his pants. Somehow they shifted position slightly so that Eames was slamming into Ariadne from behind as she kissed Arthur and stroked his cock with a sure hand. Arthur came, spilling over the edge of Ariadne's hand all over his stomach. He slid his hand between her spread thighs and rubbed at her clit, just enough to send her careening over the edge. Eames was the last to come, his breath stuttering across Ariadne's back.

"I'll be home soon," Arthur promised as he cleaned up. He leaned in to kiss Ariadne, his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her hips, keeping her close. There wasn't even any hesitation when he turned and pulled Eames in for a goodbye kiss as well.

"We'll miss you," Eames told him, meaning it.

Ariadne smiled at him. "Chocolate, Arthur. Lots and lots of chocolate."

Arthur laughed and headed out with his overnight bag. "I'll think of something, I promise."

The driver let Arthur into the back of the car, then got into the driver's seat to drive off. Eames turned to Ariadne. "So how do you propose we spend our time together?"

She only grinned mischievously and dragged him back into the villa. Before he could even ask her intention, she had her tongue in his mouth and her hands down his trousers. Eames propped her up against the wall of the parlor and fucked her hard, teeth and tongues clashing and her fingers digging tight into his shoulders for balance. Her heels pushed hard into his ass, trying to get his thrusts even deeper into her. Eames growled as he moved his hips like a piston, pounding into her as hard he could. He shook with the force of his orgasm, and Ariadne only smiled at him serenely. "I think we can do better than that, can't we?"

Eames was always up for a challenge.

***

Arthur returned to the villa on New Year's Eve, crisis averted at the bank. Apparently one of the guards was trying to use the shift change around the holidays to pull an inside job on the vault, but hadn't realized there were three different alarm systems with built in redundancies to prevent such a thing from happening. He had brought Ariadne her requested chocolates, as well as something slinky and lacy for the men to enjoy watching her prance around in. Not really sure what to get for Eames, he had settled on a Bond movie. "I'll do better next time," Arthur promised with a shrug.

"Hey, if you think I'm Bond, it's a compliment, darling," Eames had replied, pulling Arthur in for a kiss. "Thanks."

Arthur laughed and flopped down on the couch. "So. How did you two spend your time while I was away?"

"Shagging like bunnies," Eames replied playfully, starting the movie. "Jealous?"

"Oh, be nice," Ariadne chided, sliding into Arthur's lap. She had changed into the negligee, and Arthur ran his hand along her side appreciatively. "We missed you, Arthur," she murmured, before moving in to kiss him. "Sometimes I pretended he was you," she said in a playful whisper against Arthur's ear.

"Oi!" Eames said, turning around and smirking at them. "Make a bloke feel unwanted, will you?"

Ariadne crooked a finger at him playfully from the couch. "Shall we show you just how wanted you are, Eames?"

"Yeah," he said, coming toward them. "How about we do that?"

Bumping noses all the while, the three of them managed to share a kiss, before breaking apart in laughter. "Somehow, I don't think kissing is best for more than two at a time," Arthur observed with a smile.

"Definitely not something I've managed to work out," Eames agreed with a laugh. "At least, not with kissing mouths."

"Want to kiss anywhere else?" Ariadne asked, a teasing smile on her face. She shifted position on Arthur's lap, legs splayed slightly and chest halfway turned toward Eames. "Or do we just take turns, then?"

"I vote for all of the above," Arthur said, sliding his hand across her front to cup and fondle a breast through the pale blue silk. "No hurry, right?"

"Definitely not. Besides, women have the advantage over us."

"What advantage?" Ariadne asked breathlessly, arching into Arthur's touch.

"Multiple orgasms," Eames replied with a smile, easing her legs farther apart. "It's not fair in the slightest. We get all exhausted and brain dead for fifteen minutes, you get to go on and have even more times to come."

Her laughter fractured as Arthur pinched her nipple and Eames kissed her knee. Eames moved to lick at her folds as Arthur kissed her and played with her breast. She had one arm around Arthur, her fingers twined in his hair, and her other hand was at the back of Eames' neck. She moaned incoherently, writhing between them. Eames brought her to climax, and she convulsed around his fingers and tongue. He nuzzled Arthur through his pants, making him groan. "More," Ariadne whispered, moving to kiss Arthur and slide her hand beneath his shirt.

"Greedy," he teased as Eames took care of his belt. He lifted his hips and let Eames drag his pants down to his ankles.

"I missed you," Ariadne said simply, and twisted in their arms to slide down over his erect cock. Eames was behind her, and moved to slide his hands down her sides. He finally cupped one breast in his hands, then moved to play with her clit as she rocked against Arthur. "I missed _this._ Three of us, together."

Arthur groaned a little as she tightened around him. "I needed to be home," he gasped, pulling her down for a kiss. "I needed both of you."

Eames buried his face in the crook of her neck as he worked her to fever pitch. "You feel good. I wanna be inside you, Ariadne," he growled against her pulse.

"Wait your turn," Arthur gasped, tilting his hips up. "Close, real close."

"Greedy," Ariadne laughed, hands tight on Arthur's shoulders. "Both of you."

"Look who's talking," Eames laughed, pinching her nipple and moving his hand at her clit faster. She moaned and rocked faster over Arthur, making him groan in turn. "Come for us," he crooned against her ear. "Let's hear you." He tugged on her earlobe with his teeth gently, making her mewl softly. Another flick of his fingers over her clit and she nearly howled with her orgasm, shuddering over Arthur. He thrust up into her faster, face drawn and tight with his own impending release. "Gorgeous," Eames murmured, slowing his strokes to bring her down slowly. He could see the strain in Arthur as he threw his head back, eyes closed and mouth fallen open. "Make him come."

Arthur came with a sharp groan, fingers digging hard into Ariadne's hips. She slowed and let Eames pull her to the floor. He kissed her, long and deep as he settled over her, his hands tangled in her hair. Arthur shifted on the couch to lie on his side in order to watch them, and he let his fingers trail along Eames' shoulders as he began to move. Ariadne brought her legs up high over Eames' waist, breath catching with every thrust. With the way he was positioned over her, his body rubbed up against her clit with each stroke, making her squirm and writhe beneath him, her nails raking welts into his back. She moaned incoherently when she came again, and Eames thrust faster and harder, his own breath quick and sharp. Arthur grasped the back of his neck, his own nails running across the muscle, and leaned forward to whisper in Eames' ear. "Now you're the one too quiet. Lemme hear _you_ when you come."

Eames let out a strangled cry as he arched and came. Arthur pulled him close and kissed him, tasting Ariadne on his tongue. Eames panted and leaned against Arthur. "Good welcome home, eh?" he asked with a breathless laugh.

Ariadne shifted position and threw an arm around each of them. "How about we clean up and watch the movie?"

"Sounds like a plan," Eames agreed, kissing her soundly.

They fell into bed somewhere around midnight and touched each other slowly, bringing each other to climax as someone on the grounds set off fireworks. Eames had to laugh at that, and burrowed next to Ariadne in bed. "Happy New Year, loves," he said, giving both of them a kiss.

"Happy New Year," they each replied, then settled in to sleep.

***

Eames was up and making breakfast for the other two before they even woke up. He felt keyed up and antsy in a good way. It felt like the beginning of things, a real shift in his life. It certainly wasn't what he expected out of the new year, but that didn't mean it was a bad thing. Instead of having a solitary flat in London and endless reams of paperwork to fill out about one serial killing after another, he was in a brightly lit villa in southern Italy with two fantastic lovers that cared about him. For once in his life, he wasn't afraid of fucking it all up.

"Mmmm. Something smells good," Ariadne said, wandering into the kitchen. She was wrapped up in a fluffy robe, her hair still a tangled mess in the back. She was utterly adorable, and Eames pulled her in for a kiss.

"Well, good. Where's Arthur?"

"Sleeping still, probably. We wore him out," she said with a smile. "How about we wake him up with some breakfast in bed."

"Insatiable wench," Eames teased.

"Is that a complaint?"

"Merely an observation," he replied with a wide smile. "Start digging in the cupboards for plates and such, and we'll bring breakfast to Arthur."

Arthur was sprawled on his stomach across the bed, a sheet twisted up around his waist. His mouth was open slightly on the pillow, one hand tucked beneath it. Eames sat down on the bed beside him, a plate in his right hand. He slid his left along Arthur's spine in slow, smooth strokes, making Arthur mumble something in his sleep. He turned slightly, and Eames slid his hand around to Arthur's chest. "C'mon, Arthur. Time to wake."

He opened his eyes slowly and saw both his lovers looking at him, plates in hand. "What's this?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

"Happy New Year," Ariadne said brightly, coming to the other side of the bed. Arthur sat up and stretched, then accepted the plate Ariadne handed him. "Eames cooked."

"Huh. So we could trade off sometimes," Arthur remarked.

"Hey, I can do stir fry," Ariadne replied, huffing slightly.

Eames merely grinned. "I have a limited repertoire in the kitchen, but I've been told it's all excellent. _I_ think I do a good job, anyway."

They wound up talking about food and music over the course of breakfast, and Arthur took the rest of the morning to check up on the Ghost Network. "It won't moderate itself," he had said when Eames commented on it. Ariadne merely pulled out her own laptop to check the architect boards, and let Eames use the computer to check on his own account. He sent messages to Yusuf, Shelley and Eden that he was safe and in hiding, and that they shouldn't worry. There were no replies back, but he didn't expect there to be any right away.

"So what do you plan to do after this little lull is over?" Eames asked them.

"Who says it's over?" Arthur said, frowning. "There's no reason not to stay here for a while. I don't have any particular jobs lined up, and neither does Ariadne. Why? Were you getting bored sitting around?"

"I'm used to being constantly busy."

"Want to travel?" Ariadne asked, looking at Eames with an open expression. "We've been around the countryside a lot, but it'll be new with you."

"Sounds brilliant."

They went traipsing about the Italian countryside in the afternoon, and had dinner at a lovely little restaurant Arthur knew. He spoke perfect Italian, translating everything on the menu for them and ordering their actual dinner. There was a comfortable silence as they listened to the piped in music, something Eames had heard once while traveling but had never really understood. "What does this song mean?" he asked Arthur, head cocked to the side.

"It's a love song," he said with a shrug. "The usual sort of thing, where the girl pines after the boy and doesn't understand why he doesn't love her the way she loves him."

"Huh. Probably why I've actually heard this one before."

Ariadne merely smiled as she tucked into her pasta dish. "Maybe you should learn Italian. I know someone who's great with his tongue."

Arthur choked on his wine as Eames laughed, and she hid her pleased smile behind her own glass of wine. "Was it something I said?" she asked innocently.

"You are _wicked,"_ Eames said, pleased to see that sparkle in her eyes and that smile on her face.

"You're going to pay for that comment tonight," Arthur promised, shooting her a look.

"Promise?" Ariadne asked, voice low and sultry, no doubt as to where her thoughts were running.

"Absolutely."

Tangled on the bed together afterward, Eames fell asleep, the rumble of Arthur's heart beneath his ear and Ariadne's face against his chest. He knew he dreamed of something, lilting sounds and fractured memories, a soft melody he knew from somewhere but couldn't trace. He knew he was missing something when he woke, that there had been a point to the dream he had. Ever since he had woken in the villa, he couldn't remember his dreams. It was as if all of them were blurred at the edges, soft and muted, something licking at the edge of his mind and teasing him with how inaccessible it was.

He didn't usually mind, but this one felt different. He wondered if it was the wine; usually he didn't imbibe quite so much, but Ariadne had blushed so wonderfully when he had slid his hand beneath the edge of the table to rest it on her lap.

Over the next several weeks, he fell into a pattern of breakfast, going through the Ghost Network, and putting together letters he would never send. He had all his notes on the sleeper cell put together and organized, but it was a case file he would never give to MI6. He looked at his spare notes on Milton and Calliope and felt nothing but a vast sadness. Whatever he had felt for Calliope was clouded by guilt and the feeling that he had left her for dead. Yes, she had drawn the short straw and willingly stayed behind to let him and Max go. Yes, she was capable and had always seemed to understand the darkness in the field. She had been everything the MI6 wanted, edged and cruel in some ways and so soft and approachable in others. Maybe she saw something similar in Milton and wanted to use that to her advantage. Eames had always been the optimist in the group, which was why it was so painful to lose them all the way he had.

"You're thinking too hard," Ariadne teased, tossing a pencil at his head. "I can tell by the way you frown like that. It's just like when you were at the Hoover building with me. It's a terrible habit. I can practically see steam coming out of your ears."

"Thinking about the mess in Mombasa."

The smile slid off her face. "And? You don't... You don't regret us, do you?"

"What? Of course not." The relief in her face was palpable. "Ariadne, you and Arthur are probably the best thing that's ever happened to me."

She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. "Oh, good. It's just, this is new. And it's not exactly common, is it? I don't want you regretting us."

"I would never. I regret nothing."

Ariadne's smile was blinding, and Eames grinned at her in response. "The change in them was so abrupt. Calliope and Milton, I mean. Someone did something, changed them somehow so that they couldn't come back the same."

"Is that even possible?"

"It's the human mind. I've always wondered if he did that to you, you know. Because I didn't understand this whole thing." He shrugged. "I think anything is possible now. And it might explain why they went after me."

"What do you mean? To change you, too?"

"Why not? Create another sleeper agent, send me back to the Yard until they trigger me, get farther inside the Yard or MI6 and then work to their advantage. It makes perfect sense if Calliope did that to Milton. There's always been rumors about inception, but the rumors all say that they failed."

"What if it was the reverse?"

Eames frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Your notes," Ariadne said, pointing. "Milton was off and on in that scene for over ten years, and there are strange vacations dating back at least that far. One of them takes place maybe three months before that first attack in Mombasa. What if _he_ incepted _her?"_

"God, why?"

"What if _she_ was the sleeper agent?"

Eames merely looked at her in horror. "And Calliope stayed behind on purpose?"

"It's a thought." Ariadne looked at his stricken expression. "You've thought of it before."

"Not seriously."

"Look. I could be talking out of my ass. I didn't know her. I don't want to, either. How about we just go rescue Arthur from the Network and go out somewhere? It's spring, we should go do something. No need to rehash something that doesn't matter anyway."

"Yeah," Eames agreed shakily. "You're right."

"Magic words, Eames," Ariadne teased. "Smart man."

The car rumbled over the road as they left the villa for the nearby village. Eames frowned as he looked around it. The faces looked all the same, and he felt as if he was caught in some kind of weird déjà vu. "We've been here before," he said.

"Of course we have. We were just here for dinner last night," Arthur told him, frowning slightly. "Are you okay? You're sweating, and it's not even that hot out at the moment."

Eames brushed the back of his hand over his temples as the ground shook beneath his feet. "What the hell?"

"Is it an earthquake?" Ariadne asked, looking all around her.

"But there's nothing nearby," Arthur said, shaking his head. "It's why I bought it. I'd never bring us somewhere that wasn't safe..."

The rumble beneath their feet grew louder and more insistent, and Eames was thrown onto his back. "God, we need to get out of here."

He staggered to his feet with Arthur's help as Ariadne looked around the panicked marketplace in the center of the village. "This isn't going to be pretty," Arthur intoned.

Buildings were collapsing around him from the force of the earthquake. "We have to move fast," Ariadne said, fear in her voice.

"Come on," Eames said, voice firm. He'd been through hell enough already, and he wasn't about to lose them to a natural disaster. Fuck you, Mother Nature. He was going to save them both.

Grasping their arms, he tugged them after him. There was no point to getting back to the car or ducking into a building that would simply collapse. He was heading away from the village, into the fields beyond. Ariadne tripped and fell as the ground rocked beneath their feet, crying out as Eames and Arthur pulled ahead. "Just go!" Eames told Arthur, giving him a shove. "We'll be right there!"

He turned back and ran as best as he could over the heaving ground. Ariadne managed to pull herself to her feet, looking all around her with a dazed expression. She looked like she had hit her head, and Eames saw blood from a cut at her temple. It plastered her hair to the side of her head. He hadn't realized that he and Arthur had gotten so far ahead of her, and suddenly the distance almost seemed insurmountable. She gave him a grateful smile as he caught up with her and steadied her. "I knew you'd save me if you could," she said, voice soft and faint.

"I'm not going anywhere," Eames promised her. "Now let's go. I sent Arthur ahead."

Ariadne nodded and stumbled after him, limping. They picked through the rubble as the ground continued to heave, an awful grinding sound all around them.

In horror, Eames watched a building next to them shake and sway. Ariadne was farthest from it, but there was no way the both of them could race out of its wake.

Eames shoved her into the open street that headed out of the village. Arthur was ahead, a pained look on his face. "Run!" he shouted at her, pushing her toward the street. "For god's sake, Ariadne, just run!"

The building collapsed onto him, burying him beneath concrete and rubble.

Eames awoke in the middle of a barren room, gasping for breath. He rolled to his side, dazed and confused and not knowing where he was. He heard the snick of metal on metal, and looked down at his chest. Rolling over had pulled the pin out of the grenade strapped to his chest. He screamed as it exploded.

Eames awoke in the middle of a platform, barely bigger than a queen sized bed. He shook his head to clear it, pain in his chest. The platform tilted as he tried to stand up, and he went careening over the edge into a pit lined with spikes, one of which impaled the back of his skull.

Eames awoke in the middle of a cell. He was strapped down to a bed, a fitted sheet pulled tight against his chest to keep him from struggling. He was covered in sweat and filth and felt as if he was burning up with a fever. He screamed, seeing IV lines and stone walls. He could smell blood and cordite all around him, and he knew he was going to die.

"Ariadne, he's awake," Arthur said, eyes flat and soulless.

He gasped as he was cut from the table, lines were pulled from his arms. He pitched into Arthur's arms, feeling as though his limbs were weak and not his own. He kissed him desperately, and sobbed as he held onto Arthur tightly, stubbled face pressed into the crook of his neck. He could feel Arthur's shock, but chalked it up to escaping the earthquake. Ariadne was beside them, stuffing papers and various items into a messenger bag, blood on her knees and shoes. "Oh, thank Christ, you survived," Eames sobbed, throwing himself onto her. Startled, she caught him as he fell, and he kissed her full on the mouth. "I don't know what I'd've done if you'd both died," he said, eyes falling shut.

Eames passed out in their arms, missing their looks of utter confusion.

***  
***


	9. Outside Looking In

"What the hell was that in there?"

Ariadne looked over at Arthur, her lower lip between her teeth. Arthur was driving, holding the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip as they raced toward the airport. His private plane was on standby, but neither would feel safe until they were up in the air. Who knew what these people were capable of, considering it had taken this long to find Eames? "The rest of his team is dead, Arthur. What the hell could they possibly have been trying to extract from him? Who hired him?" She shifted her gaze back to Eames. Ariadne turned around and looked back at Eames, who was sprawled across the back seat and sleeping fitfully. "He doesn't look good. That couldn't have been standard somnacin. What did they give him?"

"As soon as we're up in the air, I'm calling Yusuf. I think he should be at Quantico, given the time difference. He might know what we're dealing with based on how he's reacting."

"Arthur..."

"He probably wouldn't know of me, but I've done consulting for the Bureau. It should be safe, especially if I run the call through a few nodes first."

Ariadne sighed and nodded, falling back into her seat. "I'm worried about him," Ariadne said softly, looking over at Arthur. "What did they do to him while he was under? What did he have to go through, Arthur?" There was a quaver in her voice as she looked at him. "We don't know how deep they took him. We don't know anything about what they did..."

Arthur loosened his grip a fraction on the wheel and blindly reached out for Ariadne. "We'll figure it out, okay? I just... What the hell was that? Kissing you?"

"Don't forget fondling you," Ariadne reminded him, lips quirking into a smile.

"He didn't look at us that way the last time we saw him," Arthur said a little stiffly. That only made Ariadne smile at him more and squeeze his hand. "What?"

"Look, it was probably just a side effect of whatever they gave him."

Arthur turned into the airport, his lips compressed into a fine line. "He didn't have to kiss you."

"Are you _jealous?"_ she asked incredulously. Eames muttered something in the back seat and shifted position restlessly. "It was never like that between us."

Arthur let out a sigh. "I know. I do know that." He breathed in and out deeply a few times and forced himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel. As he came to a stop near the rental car drop off, he looked at Ariadne. "I can't lose you. For a second there, I thought I might. They had too many shooters in there." He didn't say that if he had known, he wouldn't have allowed her to come with him to Mombasa.

She leaned across the space between them and kissed him soundly. "You never could, Arthur. _Never._ Now let's get in the air and figure out what the hell they did to him."

He nodded and watched her get out of the car. He looked back at Eames uncertainly, taking in the fluttering eyelids, sweat-soaked hair stuck to his skin and the pallor of sickness. He certainly wasn't himself. That sleeper cell had fucked with his head. Arthur didn't know what they had done or why, but for Ariadne's sake he would figure it out.

Eames had been missing for nearly three days. Of all people, he and Ariadne knew just how much could happen in three days with a PASIV.

***

It took some time to set up the safety nets that he wanted to use to be sure that no one could register that any contact with Yusuf had been made, let alone trace the call. By the time all of the routes were in place, they were approaching Switzerland and it was the afternoon in DC.

"Dream Share Lab, Yusuf speaking."

"It's Arthur. A mutual friend of ours was in trouble."

"Arthur? Who...?"

"I was a security consultant working with the Bureau a few months ago. Our mutual friend had to go home, and he got himself into a world of trouble."

Yusuf was swift, and caught on quick. _"Oh!_ Thank Allah, I saw the post and then it was gone. I thought that meant he was dead."

"I don't know what the hell happened, so he still could be if I can't do something about it."

"Tell me," Yusuf said, sounding all business. "Nothing going on today. It's quiet in the lab."

Arthur gestured for Ariadne to bring out the notes. "I haven't gone through any of the digital files, but I have the hard copy notes from the room." Ariadne smoothed out the sheets in front of him anxiously, eyes flickering between Arthur's expression and Eames' sweaty face as he muttered. He summarized what he could, reading things off of the notes verbatim where Yusuf indicated that he should. "So what does this mean?"

"Fuck. I was hoping he wouldn't get any of that shit in his system."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was what? A week or two ago, before he left. Right after the chat features went in, whenever that was."

"Two weeks ago," Arthur responded automatically, knowing without being told that Yusuf was referring to the Ghost Network.

"Yeah. So he sent me over encrypted files from this madman he was tracking down. The man's protocol is _dangerous._ It's meant to leave the mind wide open for data mining, skews everything they perceive and can pretty much kill them if not treated."

"What?!"

Ariadne looked at Arthur in concern, almost afraid to ask what Yusuf had said.

"It leaves them vulnerable to either anticholinergic delirium or neuroleptic malignant syndrome. This asshole didn't give a shit about the people he used this protocol with. He developed it for data results, not to leave the victim whole afterward."

Arthur's hand tightened around his cell phone. The pilot stated overhead that they were making their final descent into Geneva, but Arthur barely heard it. "So what does that mean?"

"You can't take him to a hospital, can you?"

"I can't risk creating a paper trail. He'd be found in a heartbeat."

"Then you're going to have to do it yourself."

"Me? I don't have any medical experience."

"This is symptomatically treated. What signs are he showing now?"

"He's out of his mind, for one thing."

Yusuf made a clucking noise. "That happens with both, so it doesn't count. Specific things."

"He's burning up. Sweating. Completely out of it. Weak, but that could be because he'd been gone for almost three days."

"There's some prep time, usually, but none of his notes said how much. If we assume he's been under for three days, then we're still looking at some dizziness and weakness from that. What kind of weakness are you talking about?"

"Collapsed," Arthur said tightly. His pilot started grumbling about cell phone interference. "Shit. I have to call you back when we land."

"Be careful," Yusuf warned. "Keep his temperature down. It's probably NMS, and that shit can still be dangerous. Call me back."

Ariadne reached across the small table between them and grasped Arthur's hand after he hung up. "We can save him, can't we?"

Arthur looked over at Eames, eyelids flickering and lips moving as he mumbled. "I hope so."

Arthur walked Ariadne through the reconnection procedures on the phone as he drove from the airport. "I fucking hate this place," he growled, expression drawn.

"Then why are we here?" she asked, brows knit in concern as she went through another part of the connection protocol.

"My mother's medicine cabinet is practically a pharmacy."

Ariadne reached over and squeezed his thigh. "We'll be okay, Arthur. I'm with you."

He looked over at her and flashed her a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'm still not used to that."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, careful not to jostle his arm. "Silly. I'm not ever going anywhere. You don't have to deal with her alone."

"She's not like your mother," Arthur said softly, looking back over the road. "She's... I don't even know how to describe it. Your mother gives a shit, and she's always cared about you. Mine... I've never been sure. After what happened... I think it broke her so badly she couldn't care about anyone ever again."

Ariadne kept her left hand resting on his thigh in support. "Well, you've got me and my Mom. That's something."

Arthur looked back at her and gave her a genuine smile, one that she loved to see on his face. "Yeah, it is."

The connections went through as Arthur turned into the residential area that his mother's home was located in. "What the hell took so damn long?" Yusuf asked, agitated.

"Do you honestly think it's that easy to set up an untraceable line?" Arthur replied, helping Ariadne get Eames out of the car. His coat jostled the earpiece slightly, but he couldn't readjust it until they were inside the house. At least he could still hear Yusuf.

"Okay, okay. Sorry. I worry."

"Yeah. Me, too."

They managed to manhandle Eames into a guest bedroom on the first floor. "He's dead weight right now. I think he's passed out again."

"Did he ever come to?"

"Not really. He looked like he was dreaming in places, though."

"Fuck. What's his temperature?"

"I don't know. Hot."

"Cool him down. He can't get overheated. Plus, if there's NMS, you'll have to be very careful about muscle damage."

"He couldn't really walk when he was somewhat conscious."

"Not a good sign, then. Cool him down. I can wait. I'm still here by myself."

As Ariadne went to the kitchen for ice, Arthur went to get towels and wet them down with cold water. It was work to get Eames out of most of his clothing, and his eyes flickered open briefly. He relaxed and smiled when he registered Arthur's face, and pressed his lips against the inside of Arthur's wrist before falling back asleep. Arthur pulled back as if stung, Eames' stubble rasping along the sensitive skin. He stared down at Eames, wondering what the hell that was about as Ariadne came in with a dish towel full of ice from the freezer. It snapped him back to the present, and he layered the wet towels over Eames' legs and chest, then Ariadne poured the ice over him.

"Okay, got him under ice and cold towels."

"Yep. I could hear some of that. You got me on speaker?"

"No, earpiece. So I can move around if I need to."

"Do you have something to take his blood pressures?"

Arthur blew out a breath. "I don't know what's here, honestly. I try to avoid this place if I can." He leaned into Ariadne, who wrapped her arms around him. Threading his fingers through hers, he took a deep breath. "It should be safe enough to leave him here long enough to check, right?"

"If he's breathing steady, odds are good."

"Breathing steady."

"Then go check."

Arthur led Ariadne through the maze of rooms in the house. It was a mansion, really, but his parents had always called it the Geneva House, to differentiate it from the ones they had in the US and in Japan. This house had gone to his mother after the divorce, and she had retreated into her own little world. Arthur never stepped foot inside it since.

He knew where his mother kept her meds though, and he went straight there. She was passed out in her bedroom, a still lump on the bed that was barely breathing. He didn't want to think of how many sleeping pills his mother needed at this point. Ariadne stood beside the bed for a moment as Arthur rifled through the cabinet, reading off the bottle labels for Yusuf. "We've got five different pams, metoprolol, gabapentin and quetiapine," Arthur read off. "I don't think the other crap in here makes a difference, since it's for diabetes and kidney stones."

"Those are good. Hang onto the benzos. The pams, I mean. Avoid the quetiapine, and you're not going to need the gabapentin. You'd need a blood pressure cuff to see if you need to give the metoprolol. Is there one there?"

"Still checking," Arthur admitted, taking a breath. God, he _hated_ this house. He looked through the other cabinets in his mother's bathroom, noticing Ariadne standing beside his mother's bed, a mournful expression on her face. That was the road her mother didn't take. That was what her mother never became, which led to Ariadne becoming the woman that she was.

"Found anything?"

"I don't even know how to work this thing," Arthur told Yusuf, finding the cuff in the black leather pouch.

"You need a stethoscope, too. Does you have one?"

"Yeah. But I wouldn't know what to listen for either."

"I'll walk you through it." Yusuf took a deep and calming breath. "You're going to be fine, okay? Not all NMS patients need an ICU. Okay? I can always fly out to meet you if you need me to. I've had to handle this once before."

"What happened?" he asked, seeing Ariadne walk over to the bathroom. He handed her the metoprolol and two of the five different benzodiazepines, the ones his mother probably wouldn't miss so much.

"Got him through, just to have him kill himself a year later. But you never know these things when you do it. You think you're just saving a life." Yusuf's voice was quiet as he remembered, and Arthur was almost sorry he had asked. "But it means I can walk you through how to do this on your own. I couldn't bring my brother to a hospital, either."

Arthur winced. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Yusuf took a deep breath. "Come on, then. Let's bring our friend back to life, shall we?"

***

"I hated her for a long time," Arthur said quietly later, when Eames appeared to be sleeping quietly and Yusuf was off the phone. Ariadne hadn't asked the question yet, but he knew it was coming. "She retreated to her drugs and she was nothing but a shell."

"I'm sorry, Arthur." She came to sit beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. "Losing your sister hit her hard, you said."

"I guess I wasn't enough for my parents," Arthur replied, his tone deceptively calm. Ariadne knew him too well for that by now. "I'm used to that."

Ariadne turned his head to face her. "Don't ever think that, Arthur. You've done amazing things, and you're a good person deep down." Her smile at him was wry. "I'll allow that the execution of things is sometimes off, but there isn't always an easy road ahead of us. You've managed to do well for yourself. By yourself. It's extraordinary, Arthur."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Isn't it my job to give you pep talks?"

"Well, that's because I'm new to the mind crime scene," she said, her voice dry and amused. "Not exactly something I thought I'd be doing for a living."

"Call it creative negotiations and security detail," Arthur told her, smiling gently. "Sounds better on the resume."

Ariadne laughed. "I'll do that. You want me to take first watch? He's doing okay, and I think you need the sleep more than me right now."

Arthur traced her lips with the fingers of his other hand. "I love you," he murmured softly, leaning down to kiss her. "I can't imagine how I survived without you."

She smiled against his lips. "You're never going to have to find out," she returned, threading her free hand through the hair at the base of his skull. "I'm never leaving you. I love you too much for that."

It was the reassurance he needed, and he nodded. "There's another guest room down the hall, on the other side of the bathroom. I'll be in there."

"I'll wake you in a few hours and we'll trade off."

Ariadne settled into a chair beside the bed with a sigh after he left. "Oh, Eames," she sighed, looking over at her friend's still form. "Shooting them was too easy. I wish we kept one alive to string up and gut or something."

Delirious, Eames couldn't answer.

***

During his own shift, Arthur frowned deeply at Eames. He wasn't threatened by him. Not really.

Okay, maybe just a little.

Ariadne cared about him, and had worried about whatever this job had been. Arthur had looked into it further for her sake and hadn't liked what he had seen. Shelley knew competent people, so he hadn't been as worried about Eames as he probably should have been. He had known what had happened seven years ago in Mombasa, after all. He knew the kind of mess MI6 had left in its wake, and he should have known something similar would happen again. Only two team members had officially survived the mess seven years ago, and right now it looked like only two members were alive now. Maybe he couldn't have stopped Eames from going, but perhaps he could have kept a closer watch on the man's cell signals. Maybe he would have caught on to the fact that something went wrong Christmas Day.

Some present Eames got. Arthur still didn't know what went on under sedation, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

Eames muttered something and tried to shift beneath the blankets. His blood pressure had spiked, and Arthur had to force one of the metoprolol pills down his throat. Eames had choked and cried out, making Arthur feel like he was torturing the man in some way. It wasn't right; he didn't torture innocents. He only went after the guilty, the ones that preyed upon the weak and helpless, the ones that left them discarded and used like this.

It made him deeply angry to see Eames this way.

Eames settled down somewhat when Arthur smoothed the sweaty hair from his forehead. "Arthur," Eames groaned, eyes cracked open a fraction.

"I'm here."

The other man smiled in relief and moved his limbs with difficulty. "Cold," he mumbled, pulling his hand up to cup Arthur's to his stubbled cheek.

"You're not feeling well," Arthur told him quietly. There was no need to explain the specifics just yet. At least the fever didn't spike again.

Eames pressed his lips against Arthur's palm as his eyes slid shut. "Good to me," he said, syllables slurring as he fell back asleep. "Love you."

Arthur pulled his hand back and rearranged Eames' arm under a cool towel. He was a bit unsettled, but it seemed to make some sense now. Yusuf had mentioned that the protocol had weird side effects, and that there was a definite effect on multiple parts of the brain. Arthur settled into the chair next to Eames' bed and pulled out his notebook to do some calculations.

The protocol that Milton used looked like it had a six to one ratio of time dilation. It was about average to standard military grade somnacin, something that made Arthur wonder why in the hell he would use his particular cocktail as opposed to standard sedation and somnacin. Approximately 72 hours real time meant that it was 432 hours in the first layer of dreaming. That became 2592 hours in the second layer, which became 15,552 hours in the third layer. Doing the math, that became 648 days in the third layer of dreaming.

Arthur stared at the numbers. Eames had spent nearly two years living in a dream with him and Ariadne, assuming the entire three days he had been under sedation in the same dream.

No wonder he thought they were together. In a dream like that, they very well could have been.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he couldn't blame Eames. It wasn't his fault, really. He had thought it was the real thing, and there had been genuine concern in Eames' eyes when he had first seen Arthur.

He definitely wasn't used to that. Sometimes he still stopped himself from checking to see if he was in a dream, though he knew he had been very careful with Ariadne. At times he wondered if he was dreaming this whole thing, and he was still alone. He had the Network, the consulting job, nightmares and the need to protect the innocent that would hide behind the gray areas of the law. It had been a fluke that he had even seen Ariadne in the first place, the lengths she was willing to go to in order to catch him. He had recognized that same damage in her, had seen how it would end if he hadn't intervened. He had to save her from his fate, protect her from the darker aspects of the dreaming.

Considering all that they've already done together, it was troubling to know that she had really only scratched the surface of what the dreaming could be.

Arthur watched Eames breathe for a while. They were steady and even, which was good. He had thrashed around during Ariadne's shift, and she had to give him a temazepam. It had knocked him right out, and for a while she had worried he was going to stop breathing. They had put ice chips into his mouth to keep him hydrated without risk of choking; Arthur couldn't help but think it was sad that he knew how to do that even without Yusuf telling him to. He'd kept plenty of sedated people hydrated that way. Before refining his technique, it sometimes took a long time to really drill down into the perpetrators' psyches.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Arthur took out his laptop and booted it up. There was always going through the Network and the private messages sent to the moderators. It would keep him busy for a while, and he wouldn't have to stop and think about what to do with Eames.

He had always believed they could have been friends under different circumstances. He didn't know how he felt about being lovers.

***

"Hey," Eames said in a hoarse voice, turning to the side. He was cold and damp, but at least not shivering. He saw Ariadne sitting in a chair beside him, looking drawn and worried, and he dimly remembered Arthur telling him that he was sick. He had no concept of time, but it had to be a while since then.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Ariadne said, expression collapsing into one of relief. "Feeling better?"

"Like I got the shit kicked out of me."

"Better than dead," Ariadne replied tartly. She patted his shoulder gently and perched on the edge of the bed. "Maybe we can get some soup for you, see if you can tolerate that. You haven't eaten anything in a long time."

"What day is it?" Eames rasped, eyes closing. He leaned into her touch a little, and slid his hand along the inside of her thigh. He looked up in confusion as she slid back and away from him to stand up.

"New Year's Eve," Ariadne answered.

"Again?" he asked, brows knit. He hadn't thought it had been a year already. "We were in the village last..."

"I should get the soup started."

Feeling sluggish and slow, Eames merely nodded and let his muscles relax. He felt drained, and everything in his head was foggy. "That illness knocked me flat."

Her eyes softened, and her smile was sad. "We'll take care of you, Eames, not to worry."

"I know, darling," Eames replied, endearment rolling off his tongue easily. She could tell he meant it. "Not to worry, I'm too exhausted to play nurse for either of you just yet."

Ariadne's laugh was a little uncomfortable, and she left the room to head to the kitchen. Arthur was there making coffee, and he looked at her with bleary eyes. "Your Mom was here, then?" she asked quietly. Arthur merely nodded and scrubbed his jaw with the heel of his hand. Ariadne wrapped her arms around him. "Eames woke. I think for good this time."

"I'm glad."

"You really are, aren't you?"

Arthur threaded his hands through her hair and kissed her forehead. "What they did to him is no different from what was done to us as kids, you know," Arthur began in a low tone. "It was cruel and shouldn't have been done."

"We're going to have to talk about it," Ariadne said, looking up at him with a troubled gaze. "He needs us, and not just because of the meds they gave him."

"Yeah. I..." Arthur sighed and the expression on his face was perturbed and tired. "I don't even know where to begin."

"He thinks he loves us, Arthur," Ariadne told him softly. "Not just the way you'd love a family member or a friend. He _loves_ us."

"I know."

They simply held each other for a moment. "I don't even know what to do about this. Or how to feel about it," Ariadne began. "It wasn't like that before."

"But it is now. We have to figure out what to do. We can't break him, Ariadne. That's not right."

She pulled back and looked up at him with a sad smile. "Thank you for saying that. I know he wasn't your favorite person before..."

"He wanted to take you away from me. Of course not. But it wasn't personal..." He tugged on a lock of her hair gently. "And that's not what he wants now. He needs both of us. We have to be there for him."

Ariadne stood on her tip toes and kissed him soundly. "You can go clean him up while I start the soup, then. He must be starved."

Feeling as though he had just been thrown to the wolves, Arthur nodded and headed into the guest room. Eames had rolled onto his back again, but all the damp towels were thrown haphazardly on the floor. "Hey."

Eames brightened when he saw Arthur. "I feel better. I think."

"That's good," Arthur began, somewhat cautiously. "You were pretty out of it for a while."

"Did I say something stupid to Ariadne?" Eames asked, brows knit in concern. "She seemed off."

"Just focus on getting well, all right?" Arthur came closer and rested his hand against the top of Eames' head. "Is there anything you need? We had the towels on and did cold sponge baths, but you probably feel like crap."

"Pretty much," Eames agreed. "I can't even sit up without being dizzy," he sighed. He was so much weaker than Arthur remembered, his body flopping about on the bed at intervals. "I'd love a shave, though." He rubbed at his face. "I don't suppose either of you would fancy a beard against your legs," he said with a laugh.

Arthur's gut tightened a little, and he was sure it showed on his face. Eames looked at him in confused concern. "Don't worry about stuff like that, okay? I'll go get a safety razor. We'll get you cleaned up and looking more like yourself."

Eames caught Arthur's wrist before he could step back and leave. "Was it bad? What I had? Are either of you sick? Is it catching?"

Something in Arthur's chest tightened at the worry on Eames' face. "It's not catching," Arthur assured him, gently pushing him back down. He gave Eames' shoulder a reassuring squeeze, which seemed to help. "I don't want you to worry about the details just yet, but you almost died."

"Shit. No wonder you both look at me that way."

Arthur frowned. "What way?"

"Like you don't know what to do with me. Fuck. After everything else we've been through, having to see me die wasn't part of the plan."

Arthur had no idea what he was talking about, and merely patted his chest awkwardly. "Don't worry about it, all right? We'll figure it all out."

Eames smiled at him, widely and with such utter devotion that it took Arthur's breath away for a moment. "I trust you, Arthur."

Feeling like a fraud, Arthur smiled back. "We'll get it worked out, I promise."

***

Arthur helped Eames to shave, as his hands were too unsteady. Ariadne laundered what Eames had been wearing, and compared some of Arthur's clothes against it. "Different frame size," she said, coming back into the guest room, her arms loaded down with clothes. She stopped short, watching Arthur carefully run the razor across Eames' face. He was very precise about it, but there was a tenderness in the gesture that made her smile. She was glad Arthur didn't hate Eames, as he really did need them. Eames' eyes lit up when he saw Ariadne, and Arthur paused long enough to turn and smile at her. "I pulled Eames' things out of the dryer, so he at least has something to wear now. The length is good on your stuff, Arthur, but the frame size is different."

"I suppose you couldn't salvage anything from the villa?" Eames asked, looking between the two.

"Villa?"

"The one in Italy," Eames said, looking between their blank faces. "We were just there. And then with the earthquake..." His voice trailed off at their uncomprehending expressions. "What happened? What is it?" His voice was starting to shake, and Arthur put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Don't patronize me. Tell me what happened."

"We're in Switzerland," Ariadne began, coming closer.

"I don't have a villa in Italy. I've rented one, sure. But I don't have a house there."

"Switzerland?" Eames asked faintly. "I... I don't understand."

"Let me just finish up, let you get dressed," Arthur offered. "It's a long story."

He looked at them in confusion. "We were just in Italy. Weren't we?" he asked, looking from Arthur to Ariadne. Ariadne shook her head, and put the clothes down at the foot of the bed. When she seemed poised to leave, he looked at her in alarm. "Where are you going?"

"I thought you might want to have some privacy," Ariadne murmured awkwardly.

"But why?"

She pressed her lips together as she tried to think of something to say. Ultimately, she didn't have a good response to that. "All right, then." She sat down on the foot of the bed, legs crossed, and patted Arthur's knee. "Keep shaving. I'm not partial to the beard."

Arthur shot her a look, but Eames chuckled. "Scared me there for a moment, darling. I was beginning to think something was wrong."

A look passed between Arthur and Ariadne, but Eames didn't catch it, as he tilted his head back and offered up his throat for Arthur to shave. It didn't escape either person's notice just how much he trusted them.

Carefully, Arthur finished the job and handed him a moist washcloth to get the remnants of shaving cream off of his face. "That's better," he told Eames with a nod.

"What's better is that I'm not as dizzy at the moment. Well, at least I'm not dizzy if I go slowly. Moving around quickly makes the room tilt."

The three of them working together managed to get Eames dressed. "I'm ordering you some clothes online," Arthur grumbled. "We're not getting you anywhere near a dressing room like this."

"Didn't you do that already?" Eames asked him, brows knit. "There were tags on everything." Arthur and Ariadne exchanged looks, which made Eames frown. "What? What is it?"

"I don't think this is the time..." Ariadne began slowly, looking concerned.

It was hard to remember he had nearly just died. Eames pitched himself forward; he had meant to just reach out to take her arm and shake her, but he overcompensated and fell off of the bed. Arthur caught him and Ariadne had to stabilize them both. "Jesus Christ, Eames. Be careful!" Arthur hissed, hauling him bodily back up and onto the bed. "You could've cracked your head open that way."

"You have to tell me," Eames insisted. "Whatever it is, I can't stand the way you're looking at me. Or at each other like I can't see you." They flashed each other guilty looks, then looked anywhere but at Eames. "Goddammit, just stop it. Just tell me."

Arthur remained standing, but Ariadne fell into a seated position at the edge of the bed. She prodded the pillow a bit beneath his head, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "It didn't happen," Ariadne murmured softly, looking at him with a mournful expression. "Italy, that villa, whatever happened there wasn't real. It didn't really happen."

"No. No, I _know_ it happened. I know it was real. I _know it,"_ he said, his voice high and desperate as he grasped Ariadne's arm.

She pulled out his set of keys from his pants pocket and pressed them into his hand. "Did you have your totem? Did you ever check it?"

Eames gaped at her, disbelief etched across his features. "Ariadne, don't do this," he said, begging her to stop with his eyes.

Ariadne closed his fingers tightly over the keys. "We found you in Mombasa. You were hooked up to a PASIV."

"That's right," Eames said, searching her expression desperately. He looked from her to Arthur, and neither looked happy. "You got me out. You said it didn't matter how much I thought I didn't have any information. The important part was that Calliope and Milton thought I had what they were going after."

"And now you're here," Arthur said when Ariadne couldn't. "I don't own a villa in Italy." His expression was apologetic. "I never did."

"That's not right. You said it was safer there. You had staff... You... You didn't need to protect Max or Yusuf, you were going to help Mayhew, you said I didn't have to go back. You were telling me I could stay," Eames told Arthur accusingly, voice cracking. "You told me that."

"You've been gone almost three days," Ariadne told Eames, her eyes filling with tears. "We don't know how long they kept you under."

"No. No, no, no, no..." Eames began, shaking his head despite the dizziness.

Ariadne ignored the tight grip on her arm and grasped his head in her hands to keep him still. "When did they put you under, Eames? What did they do?"

"Eden and I were locked up in a cell. I think we were still at Fort Jesus..." He looked from her to Arthur, eyes wild and desperate. "I don't know how much time passed. Maybe a day? She was fucking with me. I don't know why... Calliope was fucking with me the whole time, taunting me by threatening to kill Eden. I couldn't let her do that. It was my fault she was down there in the first place, she never should have been..." He started shaking his head incredulously. "No. It wasn't a dream. I couldn't have dreamt it..."

Ariadne pulled him into her arms when he broke down in tears. She looked up at Arthur helplessly, not sure what to do next. Eames held onto her desperately, and Arthur stepped closer to lay a hand on both of their shoulders. If it was only a day he was under, maybe less... Arthur tried to do the math quickly in his head. Twenty hours real time made one hundred twenty hours in the first layer, which made it 720 hours in the second and 4320 hours in the third. Later, Arthur did the math and realized it was 180 days maximum in the third layer, assuming Eames had been down there the entire time.

Six months. It wasn't as long as two years, but it was still a hell of a long time.

"I'm sorry, Eames," Arthur said, leaning down and embracing both Eames and Ariadne. "You don't know how sorry I am."

For Eames, it felt as though his entire world had just shattered.

***  
***


	10. Beginning Again

"I don't like this," Arthur groused, looking at Ariadne in concern. "He's... broken."

Ariadne felt awful. It had been a relief when Eames had pulled away from them and wanted to go to sleep, but she felt ashamed for feeling relieved as well. "I don't know what to do."

"You know what he needs from us," Arthur began slowly, looking at her.

"Yeah. I know." She looked at Arthur's face in concern. "What do you want to do about it?"

Arthur pulled Ariadne down to sit beside him on the couch of the sitting room. He was now so very thankful his mother tended to stay in her own set of rooms and take pills. He didn't enjoy explaining that he and Ariadne were visiting Geneva for a while, and he hadn't even mentioned Eames. If his mother saw him walking around looking like a wrecked shell of his former self, Arthur had no reasonable explanation to give her.

There was no way he could even begin to tell her the truth.

Arthur licked his lips slowly, looking at Ariadne's anxious expression. "Tell me honestly, Ariadne. How do you feel about him?"

She reacted as if slapped. "Are you implying...?"

"No." He grasped her hands firmly. "No, not implying anything. But if I wasn't around, if we had never met, would you have been involved with Eames?"

"We flirted, but it couldn't have happened the way things were. I would never have left the FBI for him and he wouldn't have left Scotland Yard."

"And now?" Arthur pressed. "Now that you both can't go back?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Humor me for a second? Please?"

"Arthur, are you talking starting something with him?"

With an almost pained expression, Arthur nodded. "I don't think we could just sit by and not even try. I think we'd lose him if we didn't."

"You don't even like him," Ariadne said, confused.

Arthur rubbed at his face and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I know. And I still freeze at the _thought_ of maybe losing you to him. I know it won't happen, I know that. I still... I can't shake it sometimes. I'm not used to this, still." He put his hand down at looked at her intently. "I know how he's feeling. Like he's lost everything. He has, Ariadne. He feels about both of us the way I feel about you. If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn't know how to cope anymore."

Shaken, Ariadne could only rest her hands over his. "Don't say that."

"It's true. So I understand what he's going through right now. They fucked with him, and he coped the only way he knew how: by turning to someone he could trust. I think it was you first, because he sure as hell wouldn't have trusted me. But on some level he must want to, because he wouldn't have been able to fall in love with me otherwise."

Ariadne sighed and leaned forward to wrap her arms around Arthur. "You're saying we should try this threesome thing. To be in a relationship, all three of us?"

"He thinks it's going to work."

"And you?"

Arthur drew in a deep breath. "I don't know. I don't hate him. I know that much. And I love you."

"So you're saying you'll do this if I want to?"

"I don't know what I'm saying."

"I don't know what I feel," Ariadne whispered against the side of his neck. "I mean, we were friends. I never considered it more than that. I never had reason to."

"Now you do."

"I... I couldn't cheat on you, Arthur. I would never want to do that."

"That's not what this is about, though. I can't believe I'm saying this, but he needs us."

Ariadne nodded as he stroked the back of her neck. "I know. I feel so bad. I don't feel the same way about him. I mean, I care about him. I was worried half to death when I didn't know if we'd get there in time to help him. I do love him that way. I don't know if it's the same as being in love with him."

"He probably won't care."

"That's not fair to him, Arthur."

"None of this is." Arthur tightened his hand in her hair. "If this was fair, I should have known about this. I should have known that the bastard was discarding people this way. But I didn't know what he was talking about specifically on the chemist boards, and I don't understand this stuff the way Yusuf does. I didn't understand what it meant, so I could have stopped this sooner. If I had stopped him, none of this would have happened, and Eames would still be at Scotland Yard and we'd all trip our way toward some kind of reconciliation. But we don't have that. He did it somehow in his head, but right now, we don't have that."

"How would it even work, then? What? We all just take turns in bed?" Ariadne asked, pulling back and throwing her hands up in frustration. "It's not like I've done this before."

"I haven't either. But it somehow worked for his projections of us. It's worth it to ask him how it happened," Arthur said slowly.

"Are you sure about doing this?" Ariadne asked, looking at him. "This is above and beyond what even friends would do, and you were never friends."

"If this had happened to me, I'd want someone to try."

Ariadne grasped his hand and nodded. "He _is_ handsome," Ariadne choked out with a laugh. "I did have a couple of bad thoughts while we were working together." She laughed at Arthur's disgruntled look. "I'm only human, Arthur. He's hot and we were in close quarters and I hadn't dated in years."

"I did ask for that," Arthur huffed.

"Yes, you did," Ariadne replied, laughing at him gently. She linked her fingers through his. "No matter what happens, then. This doesn't change us. This doesn't change what we have, what we mean to each other. Got it?"

His smile was beautiful and heartbreaking. "I keep reminding myself of that every day."

Ariadne leaned forward and gave him a passionate kiss. "I'll help you, if you need it. And if this doesn't work, we figure out something else."

Arthur nodded. "All right. I'm going to head into town to do a few errands. Are you going to be okay for a while?"

She eyed him oddly. "Where are you going?"

"He'll need clothes and we'll need some things if this is going to happen."

There was an odd sense of anticipation and dread in the pit of her stomach. "So soon?"

"For him, it won't be soon enough."

***

As much as they thought they were ready for this, it was only too easy to come up with excuses why it wasn't a good time. Eames was conscious and aware of things, but his eyes were hollow and he couldn't sleep. He was too busy mourning the relationship he had lost. His blood pressure was still a mess, and sex wreaked havoc with that. Arthur couldn't stand the thought of sleeping with a man. Ariadne didn't want to cheat on Arthur. Eames seemed to retreat into himself and was barely able to eat. They each tried to touch him to remind him that they were there, but he didn't seem to respond. It helped them get used to the feel of him in their arms, however.

They didn't make him talk about the dream or the job that sent him to Mombasa in the first place. It was too intrusive on his memories, and it would no doubt stir things up for him that were better left alone.

Ariadne knew she was being a coward, but she still felt awkward.

Arthur walked through the halls of his childhood home, feeling twitchy and hunted. He avoided his mother and had advised Ariadne to do the same. Eames barely even left his guest room, so there was no need to even mention him to his mother. Or mention his mother to Eames. She was a wraith, someone that was nothing more than a shadow.

He hated this place. He hated the memories bound within its walls, the way everything seemed to layer itself thick on his skin.

There wasn't much to do, and Arthur was surprised it took Eames as long as it did to get stir crazy. Eames had always been one for action, even if it was just mental action, and even shock could fade within hours. With teeth grit, he pulled himself along the walls for balance. Eames launched himself across a doorway, a look of sheer panic on his face when he almost missed the door frame as his legs gave way under him.

As much as Arthur still had reservations about the subject of Eames in general and sex with Eames in particular, he still raced to his side to catch him. "What the fuck are you thinking? You have muscle damage, stupid. You shouldn't be pushing yourself this hard," Arthur snarled, hoisting Eames up in his arms. It was startling to realize how light Eames was in his arms, how pliant and malleable his limbs were, like a doll's.

Eames was a broken man, in mind and body, and the reality of it crashed home for him.

"Should've let me fall," Eames returned stiffly, turning his face away from Arthur's. For a moment, he had almost let himself think that Arthur cared about him. For a moment, he had forgotten that none of their relationship had been real, just a construct in his own mind. He had almost leaned into Arthur's touch, almost called him lover, almost wanted to curl up into his embrace and sob at how weak he had become.

But he did none of it, because it wasn't real and he was a fool.

Arthur's expression softened a fraction, and he helped Eames to his feet. "You have to be more careful," Arthur told him. He could feel a tremor roll through the other man as his hand slid down that broad expanse of back, and for a moment he wondered if Eames was terrified of him. Outside of killing perpetrators as the Dream Killer, Arthur had never had power like this over another man. He didn't look for it, didn't know what to do with it.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said abruptly, making Eames swing wary eyes toward him. "I should have known this would happen. I should have planned far enough ahead." _I should have realized you were in love with both of us before this._

Eames turned away, eyes shining bright and lips compressed. "I'll live."

Watching him turn and amble back toward his guest room, Arthur didn't think so.

***

Ariadne ducked her head into Eames' room, disconcerted to see him curled up on the bed in the fetal position, facing the window. The curtains were drawn, and only a faint bit of light showed around the edges. She could hear his breathing, deep and even, but it wasn't the same as the even breathing of sleep. He was awake, possibly staring at nothing, lying still.

The urge to turn tail and run was strong, but that was a coward's way out. Ariadne prided herself on her strength of will, on being able to make the right decision, no matter what.

She was still tempted to run.

Instead, she made herself walk into the darkened room once her eyes adjusted. She sat beside Eames' curled up form, his back to her. After a moment's hesitation, she rested her hand over his arm. "Eames?"

She could feel the tremor in his arm, saw his breath hitch. Ariadne felt her throat close up in sympathy, knew that his own pride would keep him from saying what he wanted to say. And what could she say in response? _I'm sorry this isn't what you wanted_ sounded lame even in her head, and that would do nothing to help him. _I'm sorry they used you like that_ was even worse, as none of them were even sure what the hell had happened down in Mombasa. He had been the only one trapped in the cell like that, stuck in the dreaming far too deep for far too long. Ariadne couldn't even begin to guess at what he was feeling.

She wanted to shake him. She wanted to turn him over and scream that he was falling away from them, that it would let those bastards win. Couldn't he see how much it hurt her to see him this way? He was alive, he could start over.

But that wasn't fair to him, either. It wasn't about what she wanted for him. By his expression the day before, he had exactly what he wanted in the dream. Real life was the issue now. Real life was painful, and real life was what he didn't want anymore.

Ariadne stroked his arm gently, closing her eyes to breathe deeply. She didn't know the words that would make him feel better, if words even could. She and Arthur knew that he was in love with them, with the _idea_ of them, and she supposed that she was hoping he could see them for who they were in reality, not what he had wished them to be in the dream. If he could see that, maybe they wouldn't have to simply fall into bed with him and draw him out that way. She wasn't sure if she could do something like that, as much as she and Arthur had agreed to do that in theory.

Reality was so different from theory. She had forgotten everything she had learned as a child, and killing Bruss had retaught her that. She had killed him a dozen times at least in the dreams, which had been hard enough. Having his blood on her hands in reality had been a different kind of shock to her system. There had been tears and denial and the helpless feeling of losing herself, and Arthur had been her rock through all of that.

Maybe what Eames was feeling wasn't so very different from that.

When Ariadne opened her eyes, she saw that he was crying, silent tears running down his face into the pillow. "Eames," she repeated, but he gave no indication that he had heard her, or that he intended to respond.

She shifted position on the bed and leaned over to press her lips to his temple, meaning it to be a comfort. Instead, the tears only increased, and Eames struggled to breathe. He pulled his arms tighter around himself as if in pain, and Ariadne pulled back. It hurt to see him that way, to see him retreat into himself. She would have preferred if he railed at her, if he struck her down and screamed that it wasn't fair.

She didn't know what to do with him like this.

"Eames. Talk to me."

He bit his lip instead, eyes shut tight. Ariadne leaned her forehead against his temple, feeling the rasp of stubble against her cheek. She remembered the way he was the last time she had seen him, so righteously angry and upset with her. She remembered the way he had been while they were working together at the Bureau, teasing when the occasion needed a little levity but so serious and steadfast the rest of the time. Eames was nothing like that now. He was less than a shadow of his former self. He was silent, so silent, withdrawing into himself.

"I'm losing you, Eames. I don't know how to help you," she whispered. "I don't know what to do. Please, you have to tell me what you need."

He remained silent, eyes shut. The tears had slowed, but Ariadne supposed it was more water conservation in his body than sadness lifting. She felt as if he was sucking the energy out of her, as if the very room was a vortex of pain. She was sinking into a black hole, and the more she tried to claw at it, the more exhausted mentally she felt.

 _God, Eames, what else can I do?_ she thought miserably. _How did it come to this?_

Ariadne simply held him for a while, hoping that she could absorb some of his pain. Maybe then he would talk to her. Maybe then he could come out of his room.

It felt like hours before she left the room, and Eames hadn't moved the entire time. "I'm going to get you something to eat, all right? Some soup? That should be easy enough."

No response. Eames could have been a corpse for all that he moved.

Ariadne slipped from the room, feeling like a traitor. She looked at Arthur, sitting in the breakfast nook with an absent expression on his face. He was staring at nothing, not even aware of his surroundings. He looked up sharply when Ariadne came into the kitchen, though there was an anxious cast to his eyes. He almost seemed to dread what Ariadne might say, and he asked with his eyes the question he couldn't voice.

"No change," Ariadne murmured softly, moving to the cupboards. "Maybe he'll eat a little soup or something. I don't know."

He shouldn't be this way, they both wanted to say. He should be bouncing back.

But it was difficult to simply bounce back from something like this, and they knew that. Of all the people in the world, they knew exactly how difficult it could be.

Arthur came up behind her at the stove and wrapped his arms around her. "You're doing the best you can, Ariadne." _You can't save them all,_ he wanted to tell her. _Not if they don't want to be saved._

"It's not good enough," she replied softly, head hanging down a little. She turned into his embrace after a moment and wrapped her arms around him. "I don't know how I can do more. I mean, I know we talked about it..."

Arthur sighed. "I know." He stroked her back gently. "I know I said we should, but..."

"Are we just reading too much into it, Arthur? Is that really what he needs? You'd think he'd reach out to us more, then. You think he'd show if he wanted us that way."

"But then, what's the point if we're not the ones he had?" Arthur told her quietly. It felt as if they were talking in circles. "And he's still sick. His blood pressure was up when I took it this morning, and he refused to take the pills."

"I'm worried about him," Ariadne said softly.

"Me, too," Arthur admitted, almost reluctantly. He didn't want to feel anything for Eames. He wanted to hang onto his irritation with the man for a while longer. Eames shouldn't have Ariadne's affections, however innocent they were. He should have Ariadne all to himself, should be able to keep her safe from the outside world. He couldn't live without her, and he didn't want to have to learn.

On that point, he understood what Eames was going through. That didn't mean he had to like the idea. That didn't mean he had to simply roll over and agree to anything.

He thought of how weak Eames had been in his arms, how broken he had seemed. Arthur didn't want to pity him. He didn't want to worry about him. He didn't want to understand what was happening to him.

He didn't want to remember being in the hospital for two months after his own abduction, and didn't want to consider that it might take Eames just as long to recuperate.

"I'll bring him a little soup," Ariadne murmured, pulling out of Arthur's grasp. "He's just tired and hungry, I'm sure. He'll feel better. We're going to help him get better, and he'll be back to himself again in no time."

"How long did it take for you to feel better after they found you?" Arthur asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"I could pretend after a few weeks," Ariadne said, not looking at Arthur. She got out a bowl and poured half of the saucepan's contents into a bowl. She snagged a spoon from the drawer and looked up at Arthur's impassive face. "It was longer than that before I stopped dreaming about it, before I really felt like myself again."

"It might take that long..." Arthur began softly.

"We were children," Ariadne told him tightly.

"Ariadne..."

"We didn't know how to cope, and we didn't have anyone else with us." She put the spoon into the bowl and looked up, almost desperate for him to agree with her. "It'll be better for him. He's got us. We'll walk him through it, we'll make it right. It doesn't have to take that long."

"He's got us," Arthur agreed.

It didn't have to take that long, Arthur thought as she went to try to feed Eames. But it just might take that long anyway.

They might have to do something drastic, but he really didn't want to have to.

***  
***


	11. Moving Through Memory

Tired of silence and darkness, Arthur snapped the window shades open in Eames' room. "That's it, you're getting the hell up _now."_

He caught himself when he spun around and looked at Eames' pained expression. Holy fuck, he had just turned into his goddamn mother.

Eames had several days' growth of beard on his face, which helped to hide how sunken his cheeks were. He barely ate or drank, though Ariadne made sure whatever he did take in was high in nutrients and calories. He barely moved, and his hair hung in oily strands against his face. Blinking against the light suddenly in the room, Eames merely stared at Arthur. The last thing he had voluntarily said to Arthur was "Should've let me fall," and Arthur was wondering if he was letting himself waste away slowly.

If there was one thing that had made his eight year old self furious in the hospital, other than his parents' inability to do a damn thing, it had been physical therapy.

"I'm going to need to know how much strength you have in your arms and legs," Arthur said in a brisk tone of voice, mimicking the therapist that had worked with him. He had sworn as a child that he would _never_ think about it ever again, but here he was reenacting the same thing that had been done to him.

Fucking trauma.

Eames didn't resist when Arthur reached out to roll him onto his back and uncurl his limbs. He didn't resist when Arthur started moving his arms and legs as he remembered the physical therapist doing all those years ago. His eyes were frightened, though his expression was carefully blank. He didn't know what Arthur was doing, didn't know if this would lead up to anything painful. Arthur just moved Eames through the range of motion, finding no restrictions. Well, he didn't think there were restrictions. He was a security expert, not a physical therapist. He didn't find any resistance to the movements, and Eames was as pliant as a doll beneath his hands. His eyes tracked Arthur's motions, though he didn't say a word.

Yeah, Arthur hadn't spoken to the physical therapist for a week. Once he started, it had been the most colorful curse words he had heard of at that point. He even invented a few, which had only made the therapist laugh. That had gotten him even angrier, though he hadn't been able to really hurt the therapist at all. At the end of his stay, Arthur received a hug from the young woman, which he stood stiffly for. "I knew you could do it," she had told him with a soft smile. "If you could be so angry at me, you had enough spirit to come back."

The words had followed him. Not everyone had enough spirit to come back, it seemed.

"Does this hurt?" Arthur asked, moving through the exercises again, this time trying to make each motion a little deeper or wider. Eames merely grunted, but didn't speak. "Does this hurt?" he repeated. "I won't know until you tell me."

"Everything hurts, wanker," Eames growled suddenly, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Just leave me alone."

"You can do better than that," Arthur sneered, leaning into the stretch of Eames' leg.

Eames snarled and batted at his face, which was nothing more than the slide of fingers lightly across his skin. His expression told Arthur that he had meant to slap him, but his arm wouldn't cooperate with the move.

"Try it again," Arthur said, voice hard and eyes sharp. "You can't hit me, can you?"

"I don't want to!" Eames cried, twisting beneath Arthur's hands. It wasn't much of a motion, but just enough to make Arthur slip and fall across Eames. The breath rushed out of Eames painfully, and Arthur pushed himself back up quickly.

"You need to hate me," Arthur insisted, turning his face so that he had to look at him. "You need to hate that I'm doing this, that I'm _making_ you do this."

"I can't," Eames rasped.

"Yes, you can," Arthur insisted. He pulled Eames up and off the bed a little, disconcerted by how easy it was to do. Eames was dead weight in his arms, but Arthur managed to manhandle him the same way he had done in that cell in Mombasa. "You're going to walk again. You're going to take a swing at me. You're going to tell me to fuck off and leave you alone. You're going to do all those things again, do you hear me?"

Eames merely breathed heavily, eyes looking everywhere but at Arthur. "I can't," he said finally, when Arthur shook him a little.

"You will," Arthur told him, his tone brooking no argument. "You're going to do what I say, and you're going to get better. Then we're going to hunt down those bastards and kill them again for what they've done to you."

A wracking shudder passed through Eames, but Arthur ignored it. The physical therapist had seemed like a ruthless bitch to his eight year old self, and he would have to do the same for Eames right now. He could do the hard thing, he knew. He could be the soulless bastard that got shit done, because there was no one else to do this. He couldn't find a physical therapist to do this without explaining what the hell had happened, and he wasn't willing to do that. Ariadne was too busy feeling sorry for Eames to push him where he needed to go. She was his rock and center of the universe, but that didn't mean he couldn’t see her clearly.

He was the one without a soul. He would be the one to force Eames to change. Ariadne could never do that. She still retained too much of her humanity, despite all that had happened to her and all that she had done over the years. Arthur was the one that could shut off his emotions and do what had to be done.

"We're going to walk," Arthur said, holding Eames' arm across his shoulders tightly. He ignored the hitch in his breath as Arthur took a step away from the bed. He was carrying all of Eames' weight, but he was strong enough to do that. "We're going to walk around this room twice today. And four times tomorrow. And then six after that, and so on. You're going to be able to walk the length of this fucking house when I'm done with you."

"I can't," Eames told him, voice mournful and desperate. "I can't, Arthur. I can't."

"You can and you will," Arthur replied. His voice softened a fraction when he saw the vulnerable look on Eames' face. A vision of his eight year old self swam in front of his vision; damn his parents for being so weak and selfish. "I'm going to do it with you."

***

Days stretched out after that. Ariadne didn't interfere with Arthur's version of physical therapy, and she took it upon herself to remind Eames to shower, eat and take care of his appearance. She had Arthur shave him again, though Eames insisted on bathing himself. His hands shook at times, but it was less life threatening than with a razor at his throat.

Ariadne wondered if all of January would pass in this manner before Eames got better. She and Arthur both didn't try to get him to talk about what had happened in Mombasa. She was more worried about his physical deterioration. Once she was no longer as worried he would fall when standing, she could worry about what else had gone on.

Plus, she knew he would need time to figure things out for himself.

While Eames was getting stronger, he wasn't as forthcoming as Ariadne would like. She knew better than to pester him about it, even if she could pester him about everything else. "Come on, I'll need to change you if you don't move," she told him one afternoon.

He merely grunted at her, but continued to sit slumped at the edge of the bed.

Feeling a bit like a bully, Ariadne had to start taking off his clothes to change them. She wasn't about to change his underwear for him today, even though she had done so in the past. His eyes followed her a little too closely, and they seemed to shine a little too bright. He leaned on her heavily, until Ariadne lost her balance and fell. She inadvertently pulled him down along with her, and he fell on top of her. His head was pillowed by her breasts, an arm falling across the length of her body.

Arthur came running at the sound of the crash. Ariadne was fine, and managed to get herself up to a sitting position, though Eames rolled into her lap. With a sigh, Arthur helped Ariadne pull Eames to his feet, then got him dressed again. Eames looked flushed with shame that they had to do this, and Arthur tried to tell himself that it was his own fault for not even trying. He knew that Eames was strong enough to dress himself and shower safely, and that he didn't need her waiting on him hand and foot.

He also knew that it was probably the only time Ariadne was willing to touch him so intimately.

Eames couldn't quite meet their eyes, and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. "Does this have anything to do with what happened while you were dreaming?" Ariadne asked him without thinking. He blanched at the words, and Arthur gave her a sharp look. Ariadne wondered again what had happened while he was under sedation. She remembered the feel of his desperate hug, the press of his lips over hers. He had kissed Arthur with the same fervor, but they had chalked it up to the drugs and delirium at the time.

Now she wasn't so sure.

"What happened?" she asked, coming to sit beside Eames. Arthur moved to stand at the doorway, sure his presence would only antagonize him. Sitting right beside Eames on the bed, Ariadne could see a fine tremor in his hands, that his breathing was still too rapid. Whatever happened, there were still mental effects they hadn't dealt with. She reached out to grasp his hand, and he flinched. "Do you need to check your totem?"

"Yeah," he rasped, sounding almost ashamed. He palmed his keys, feeling the chess piece on the keychain. He wished he had his poker chip as well.

"Eames?" she asked softly, making sure not to touch him. "What happened in Mombasa?" She was tempted to shake his shoulders. "You never talk about it."

"I walked into a trap," he replied, looking off at a point to the right of her face. "As prepared as we thought we were, we weren't."

"What was the trap for?"

"I don't know. I _don't._ Everyone keeps asking me, and _I don't know."_

No one pointed out that the other times had been in his head and not in real life.

"I thought... It doesn't matter what I thought."

Ariadne grabbed his arm, ignoring his flinch. Hearing that made her snap. "Yes, it matters. Of all people, you know _why_ this matters. It was real, in a sense. Everything that happened while you were under was still real. It still happened."

"No, it's not," he rasped, shaking his head. "It never happened and I'm a bloody idiot."

"They fucked with your head," Arthur told him, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes fixed on Eames. "But you _can_ get your life back."

 _"I don't want it,"_ he snarled viciously. He snatched his arm away from Ariadne and grasped his keys hard enough to hurt. "I want what I had."

"But what did you have?" Ariadne asked quietly. She had to hear him say it; conjecture wasn't enough anymore. She had to know why he looked at them the way he did.

"I..." He shook his head as his voice trailed off. "It doesn't matter now. It wasn't real. No matter how much I want it to be, it wasn't real."

"It was Ariadne, wasn't it?" Arthur asked quietly.

Eames looked at him, keys clenched in his fist. "No, you bloody fool. It was _both_ of you." His laughter was bitter as he stood. "You should have left me where I was. Let them turn my brain to bits of fried egg. Let them kill me. It would be kinder than this."

He tried to stalk past them on unsteady legs, but Arthur grabbed his arm. "Explain that."

"What's to explain? You win, Arthur. You win. Just let me go. I can't deal with this."

"Eames," Ariadne began in a broken voice.

He shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his fool mouth shut. He should have lied.

Arthur kissed him, mouth hot and open over his, and Eames grabbed his arm tightly, desperately. He could feel Ariadne press herself against his back, her arms winding around his chest. He probably should have pushed Arthur away, but he couldn't help it. He pushed his tongue into Arthur's mouth and grasped him by the back of his neck. Arthur didn't pull back or push him away, and he was dimly aware of Ariadne telling him that they wouldn't leave him alone, that they wouldn't ever let him suffer.

God, this was fucked up, but he couldn't stop himself from deepening the kiss, from pressing his erection against Arthur.

Ariadne pulled at his shirt, untucking it from his pants to slide her hands against his stomach. Eames groaned and broke the kiss to breathe, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't look at Arthur, couldn't bear to see disgust or rejection.

He was pliant in their arms, and Ariadne turned him around to kiss him. He responded just as enthusiastically, just as desperately. Ariadne's hands went to his waist, unbuckling his belt. Arthur had his arms around Eames, his chin on Eames' shoulder. "We know," Arthur murmured into his ear. "It's okay, Eames. We thought this might be why."

"It's all right," Ariadne murmured against his mouth. Eames felt his pants give way and fall to his knees. "We're right here, Eames. We're with you."

Part of him was ashamed to take advantage of this. They were doing this just because he wanted them, just because he needed this. They didn't care about him like this, couldn't want him this way. Everything he thought he had was just a dream. All he'd ever wanted was all in his head.

He couldn't care when he felt their hands on him, when Ariadne had her mouth over his and was kissing him with a fervor that took his breath away. Even if he had just this, it would have to be enough for him.

It was a shock to feel Arthur's hands on his hips, fingers sliding into the hollows of his hip bones as Ariadne broke their kiss long enough to pull down his pants. Eames let out a groan and wriggled between them to take off his shirt. His breathe caught as he watched Ariadne pull off her shirt and stand in front of him in just her bra and jeans. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered hoarsely, reaching for her. As she came closer, Eames felt Arthur run his teeth along his shoulder. Her skin felt like silk against his, and Eames was almost afraid he was dreaming again. His totem lay on the floor near his pants, and Eames dragged his eyes back to Ariadne.

"We'll be careful with each other," she said, giving him such an earnest look he wanted to weep at the sight of it. "I don't want to screw it up."

"I've screwed up enough," Eames agreed.

"How did it go in your dream?" Arthur asked, voice gentle and almost uncertain.

"Wanting to know who topped who?" Eames asked, feeling an almost perverse sense of pleasure at Arthur's discomfort. But that wasn't fair, either. He could be a creepy psychopathic bastard, but he was being infinitely fair about this. Eames didn't know if he could have been even half so understanding if their roles were reversed.

But then, Arthur had his own dream demons, too.

Arthur squeezed Eames' hips almost painfully. "Don't make me regret this," he hissed.

Eames made a dismayed sound, but Ariadne chuckled softly. "That's not nice, Arthur," she chided gently.

"I don't..." Arthur began in protest. He sighed and rested his head against Eames' shoulder. "I haven't done this before, okay?"

"I haven't either," Ariadne said quietly. She looked at Eames earnestly, running her hand along his chest. "You've got to help us, Eames."

Oh God, this was really going to happen.

"The first time," Eames began, his voice almost hoarse, "there was alcohol and I sucked you off," he told Arthur. "Other times, you fucked me," he murmured, looking at Arthur. "And I was inside Ariadne while you did it." He looked back at Ariadne with a vulnerable expression. "We didn't... You had shots," he told Ariadne. "We didn't need to use anything when we had sex."

Ariadne stroked his face gently. "Okay. We need them here, though. You okay with that?"

This was happening. This was really happening, and Eames wanted to test his totem, even though he _knew_ this was real. Then again, he had thought it was real before, too.

"Yeah," Eames said hoarsely. "Very okay."

"Come to our bedroom," Arthur murmured against his shoulder. "Everything's there."

Somehow they stumbled toward the bedroom that Arthur and Ariadne were using. Eames felt so very lost, standing there naked with a clothed Arthur and mostly clothed Ariadne. She kissed him full on the mouth, pushing him back toward the bed. "Relax," Ariadne told him, voice firm. "This is real. This is really happening."

Almost terrified it was going to go away, he whimpered when her hand closed over his cock. It would be cruel if she backed off and decided this wasn't what she wanted, or that he wasn't worth this effort. "Ariadne..."

Arthur took off his sweater and was unbuttoning his shirt beneath it. "Why not take off her jeans? She's wearing too many clothes."

With trembling fingers, Eames unbuttoned the top button and drew down the zipper. Arthur helped to pull them off of her hips, and he dragged her panties down with the denim. Ariadne stepped out of them, then came to kneel beside Eames on the bed. She grasped him again, beginning with a slow rhythm. "Is this okay?" she asked softly.

"Very okay," Eames mumbled, eyes large as he took in her face.

Ariadne moved her hand softly over him, and leaned forward a little to touch his face gently. "I won't know what you like. I'm not the same as the one that was with you..."

He dragged his hand across her stomach, watching her muscles contract as she tried not to giggle at being tickled. Grinning a little, he let his fingers move to the juncture of her thighs. "It's all good. Yeah, I've done threesomes before, but I'm really very vanilla when you get down to it." He turned his head to kiss her palm tenderly, almost hesitantly. He moved slowly with his other hand, tracing her, not wanting to scare her off.

Fuck, maybe they should have all gotten hammered for this. It had worked the last time.

Only, the last time had been in his head, so it never would have fallen apart anyway.

Eames kept his eyes on Ariadne, his fingers sliding in deep. She was moist and wet, her breath fracturing as he moved his fingers in even strokes. As much as she said she was different from the Ariadne in his head, she was reacting the same way so far. He was grateful she hadn't used that term, though. It might have sounded belittling, as if it could only have happened in his head, and it could never be real.

The bed dipped a bit beneath Arthur's weight as he came to sit down next to Eames. Arthur slid a hand across Eames' chest in light strokes. "She's beautiful like this," Eames told Arthur, voice catching a little. Ariadne hissed in a breath, thighs quivering on either side of his wrist, and she raked her nails across his chest.

"How should we do this?" Arthur asked Eames. There was a slight hesitancy in his voice, and Eames wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't known that they were unsure about how to proceed.

Ariadne tightened around his fingers, making soft panting noises that had Eames' cock twitching in anticipation. "Don't suppose you'd want the three of us to fuck each other at the same time, would you?" he asked, hoping he sounded indifferent.

She came with a gasp, hips pressed against Eames' hand. With effort, she looked from Arthur to Eames. "Do you want that?" she asked, voice breathy. She dragged her hand up to his face, and Eames parted his lips to take in her fingers. He was still thrusting his fingers up at a steady pace, making Ariadne cry out. Arthur leaned across Eames to kiss Ariadne, their mouths open and tongues dancing.

Eames curled his fingers in that way the dream Ariadne had liked, and she came apart over him, shuddering and crying out while clutching Arthur's shoulders for balance.

He cradled her when Arthur helped her move her limbs to straddle him. Fingers tangled in her hair and their mouths meeting for a kiss, it was easy enough to remember the heartbreak at finding out that he had spent months in a dream. The kiss was long and deep, and she responded to his touch. Eames could hear Arthur opening a drawer and taking out things, then ripping paper sounds. Arthur came back to the bed and gently nudged Eames so that he turned to his side, taking Ariadne with him. He understood when felt Arthur slide a hand along his backside. Arthur slid a lubed finger inside of him, slowly and carefully, obviously still uncertain.

This part wasn't like the dream at all, but this was better. This was real.

Arthur passed Ariadne an unwrapped condom, and she slowly rolled it over Eames, not breaking their kiss. She rolled over to her back, pulling Eames over on top of her. With some adjusting positions, he guided himself into her. As he started to move, he found himself partly pulling out of her and impaling himself on Arthur's finger. Eames groaned a little, his pace erratic. Arthur slid his other hand across Eames' back, and he missed it when it was gone. After a moment Arthur withdrew his hand from Eames, only to slide his sheathed cock deep into Eames. He cried out in pleasure, the hand in Ariadne's hair pulling it tight. "God, yes," he groaned against Ariadne's mouth. "Fuck, it's just the same."

He hadn't meant to admit that, but Ariadne drew her legs up and ran one hand along his cheek. The other reached up and behind him, to where Arthur was positioned. "Harder," she whispered against Eames' mouth, sliding the hand at his cheek to the back of his skull. "Faster."

Eames moved between them, and there was no sense of rhythm at all. He almost wanted to laugh at how uncoordinated this was, how it didn't all just fall together right away. But that made it real, and that was different than before. He couldn't feel Ariadne the same way through the latex, but her gasps sounded the same and her mouth beneath his was the same. Eames moved faster over her, slamming into her as hard as he could. Arthur had his hips in a tight grip, sure to leave bruises behind. At one point, his down stroke coincided with Eames', and Ariadne nearly howled in pleasure at the deeper thrust into her. She writhed beneath Eames, trying to tilt her hips up to give him better access.

Arthur came with a surprised grunt, nails digging in deep and nearly breaking the skin. He pulled out after a moment and lay beside them, watching avidly. Ariadne turned her head and let one hand fall from Eames' shoulders, and Arthur took it to kiss tenderly. She came next, back arching and groaning loudly. Eames was close, and her nails raking down his back was just enough stimulation to let him come as well.

It wasn't an easy arrangement in the bed afterward. They were sticky and messy, and somehow Eames wound up in the middle. Ariadne had always been in the middle before, maybe his concession to the fact that she had been with Arthur first. This time, he was in the middle, with Arthur tentatively touching his arm and Ariadne's hand over his heart.

He wanted to thank them for this, but words were absolutely inadequate for what he was feeling just then. He turned to say something to Arthur, but the other man merely kissed his forehead gently. When he turned to Ariadne, she dropped a kiss onto his lips.

Perhaps he didn't need to tell them. Perhaps they already knew.

***  
***


	12. Fallout

Eames was startled to see an older woman with dark hair and hollow eyes in the kitchen the following afternoon. He had lost all sense of time, and threw on whatever clothes Arthur had bought for him. He shouldn't have been surprised that Arthur got it all right; he would have known sizes from the tags in his other clothes, and Arthur had a sharp eye for detail. Eames had obviously known that on some level, since Arthur had done it for him in the dream.

This woman had a slight frame and was painfully thin, with white streaks in her hair. She had brown eyes that looked familiar, but it was her suspicious expression that made him realize this had to be Arthur's mother.

"Hullo," he said, feeling extremely awkward.

"So he's brought someone else here, then," she said, eyes dull and uncaring. Time hadn't been good to this woman, though Eames couldn't say how he could tell, exactly.

"I'm sorry if it's inconvenient," Eames began.

Her eyes sharpened for a moment. "You really are sorry, aren't you? You're sick. You look it."

It was not said with any kind of maternal feeling, and Eames was starting to understand the inhuman stillness he had seen in Arthur's eyes. "Arthur's been helping me out," Eames replied, which really was no explanation at all.

"He hasn't been here since... Well, since." She turned her thin back to Eames and took the tea kettle she was holding to put on the stove. "He said he'd never come back here."

"Since?" Eames asked faintly.

"So you don't know, then? The girl did."

It was odd to hear Ariadne be referred to as a girl, but next to Arthur's mother, she was. "I was out of it until recently." She turned, eyes sharp and somehow blistering despite her mask like face. "Someone slipped me something. I still don't know."

His words were close enough to the truth, and it seemed to satisfy her. "Your New Year wasn't so happy, then."

"No, it was not."

She heard the underlying pain in his words. "Tea?"

"Please."

Eames gingerly sat at the island counter in the kitchen. His limbs were slow in responding to his commands, all feeling heavy and sore at times. He also felt stretched out and used, as he hadn't been so thoroughly fucked like that in years. His dreams obviously didn't count.

"Is anyone else here, then?" Eames asked over tea.

"Greta will return soon enough." She looked at his blank expression. "My nurse."

"Nurse? You don't look ill."

Wordlessly, she pushed up her sleeves. Faint criss-crossing scars lined both forearms. "Perhaps now I do."

"No. Those are old." Eames sipped at the tea, frowning at her. "You're hiding here."

"Aren't we all?" she asked cryptically. She then dug into her pocket for an elegantly enameled pill case. She dug two out and swallowed them dry with brisk efficiency before placing the case back into the pocket of her dressing gown. "She doesn't leave me alone for very long during the day. She never does. She doesn't understand that you have to care about something for death to be a draw."

The bleak tone of voice sucked in Eames despite himself. He was drawn to the way it seemed to echo inside his chest. "Can you tell me why?"

Her eyes shuttered and looked empty again. "No."

She was a shell of a woman, no one that Arthur held dear. Eames wondered what had broken her so badly. "What about Arthur's father? Is he about somewhere?'

"I don't keep his ashes. Ask Arthur where he keeps them. I don't care." With that, she left the kitchen without a backward glance, leaving Eames sitting there alone.

He wandered the halls on his own, not quite willing yet to return to Arthur and Ariadne. He was an intrusion here, and it was becoming more and more obvious by the moment. He had never been meant to see this life, was not supposed to know anything but the polished surface persona that Arthur presented to the world.

The walls were empty and rooms were devoid of any personal touches. This was nothing like the Italian villa of his dreams. This house resembled a mausoleum more than anything else, a place for ghosts to reside.

When Greta returned, she did so through a side door and took up residence in the sitting room of what had to be the suite Arthur's mother stayed in. there was little noise, hardly anything to indicate that someone was inside. This was Arthur's inheritance, Eames realized. Arthur had learned early on how to be a ghost from his mother.

And considering Arthur's life work, Eames was only left to wonder who it was that had been pulled under and destroyed in dreams.

***

Arthur gasped awake, eyes shooting open and his chest burning with unholy fire. He didn't dream anymore, not really, and he couldn't tell if this was the remnant of a hazy dream that couldn't quite exist. He tried to ease from the bed without waking Ariadne, but she rolled over onto her side and faced him with large eyes. "Eames is wandering the halls," she told him quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I am," he answered stiffly. "Why would you ask me that?"

"You had a nightmare."

"I don't dream anymore," Arthur replied, thinking that would end the conversation right there.

She sat up and ran her cold fingers over his bare chest, her chilled breasts pressed against his back. "I recognize a nightmare when I see one, even if you aren't aware it's there." Ariadne pressed her lips against his neck. "What was it about?"

"I don't know," he said slowly, turning the syllables over in his mouth. They almost felt wrong, as if he really should have known what was on his mind.

"I'm not leaving you," she said abruptly. "Is that what worries you? After last night, I mean? It wasn't what we thought it would be, was it?"

Arthur reached up and pressed his hands over hers. "No, it wasn't. What we thought, I mean. And I'm not worried about you leaving me." He turned and looked at her with hollow eyes. "It meant everything to him."

"What about _you?"_ she asked, eyes watching him closely.

"I'll live."

Ariadne ran her fingers across his chest. "It didn't go well for you, did it?" she guessed.

He pulled out of her grasp. "No. It went _too_ well." She didn't understand the tremor that rolled along his spine, the hopelessness he looked at her with. She could read his eyes, could see the despair that the world would never see. "Ariadne... I _remember."_

"Of course you do," she said, frowning, still not understanding. "It only happened last night."

He shook his head, then started digging around for clothes in the suitcase he had never bothered to unpack. "I hate this house. I hate it so goddamn much," he said, voice low and fierce. He looked up at her concerned face, seeing the question there that she hadn't voiced yet. "I have someplace to show you, then."

Once dressed, Arthur took her out for a drive. She wondered if she should feel guilty for leaving Eames behind in that house, but figured that he would just wander about for a while. Arthur knew Eames was awake and walking around but didn't seem concerned. Ariadne figured that meant they weren't heading too far away from the house.

She instantly recognized where they were, even though she had never been there in person. The trees were barren of leaves and only the evergreen bushes gave the empty park a splash of color in the thin afternoon light. There were the swings and the slides, the jungle gym and teeter totters, the little spinning merry go round that she hadn't been able to recall the name of in the dream she had shared with Arthur. Ariadne slid her gloved hand in his, giving him silent support he didn't ask for but clearly needed. "I didn't realize it was here."

"I hate this place." His voice carried no inflection, and it was as flat as when they had first met in the basement of his Maryland house. "I hate this city, this park, that house. I hate everything about this place. This is where it all fell apart. I _remember,_ I can't stop it from coming back, and I _hate_ this place," he said, turning to her. His eyes were shining and his teeth were bared in barely suppressed rage. "I lost everything here, and I can't forget it. It makes no sense, but it's all I can remember."

Ariadne drew him down to a park bench and held him close. "It makes perfect sense, Arthur," she said softly, gently. She pressed her forehead against his cheek, her eyes falling shut. "Why did he keep Gabrielle? Why didn't he keep you? Why didn't he want you enough? Why didn't your parents want you enough to stay together?" Ariadne's voice cracked. "I _know,_ Arthur. Of all people, I _know."_

His breath hitched painfully. "You got over it. Your parents banded together to protect you from it. They kept you safe, they made you whole."

"No, they didn't. Not the way you think." She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "I still had those questions. All the dream therapy in the world could never erase them." She took his face in her hands gently. "I healed myself. I couldn't stand the way my parents looked away from me, how they couldn't never just leave me alone. I had to heal myself. They couldn't do it for me."

"How?"

"I figured out why he couldn't keep me. I didn't belong to him," Ariadne told him simply. "He couldn't keep what wasn't his."

Arthur drew in a pained breath. "So who do you belong to?"

"You," she replied softly. "I never knew it then, but I was waiting for you. And yours couldn't keep you because you didn't belong to him. Gabrielle didn't belong to anybody, but you definitely didn't belong to him."

His smile was bitter. He was hollow inside, carved out and left for dead by a nameless and faceless monster that had him dreaming of darkness for days that felt like years on end. "So who do I belong to? How did he know he couldn't keep me?"

"You belong to me, Arthur," Ariadne told him firmly, her gloved thumb running over his bottom lip. It was dry and cracked in the cold. "You knew it when you got me out of DC. You told me that I was stronger than my past, that I couldn't let it control me. Why can't you believe it of yourself? It's just as true."

He closed his eyes, finding that still, silent place inside of him. It was a dark place, an empty void that he had retreated into while suffering under the hands of an insane pedophile with a PASIV. He wasn't comfortable there any longer, which was troubling. Now it was chilling, a place where a wounded animal might go to die.

"You were _eight,_ Arthur," she continued. "She was three. You were children. She was your responsibility, but not for this. "

"I should have known." Arthur could barely recognize his own voice as his lips shaped the words and his tongue pushed them out. "I was older. I should have known to be careful. And with this, with Eames, I should have known." He turned empty eyes to her. "I'm better than this. I know how it works, how we mold ourselves to make others like us. I know how we put on masks to make people believe us. We won't get hurt again, not like that, never like that, and we show people everything they want to see." He rubbed at his face, his pale skin turning pink from the friction in the cold. "I should have thought of that. I should have known about that."

"You can't know everything," Ariadne reminded him.

"I don't know if I can do this with Eames," Arthur told her, voice breaking.

"Then we stop. We can't... I can't risk you, too." She took his face in her hands again. "I'll fix this, I promise you. Somehow, I'll figure out a way to fix this."

"He's like us now," Arthur disagreed, shaking his head. "If he wasn't broken before, they broke him now. I should have thought of that. I should have remembered what it did to me. What it could do to you."

"I don't like what it's doing to you _now,"_ Ariadne said, voice sharp. She got to her feet and pulled Arthur up. "Maybe we just need to leave Geneva. Pick a place, anyplace, anywhere, throw a dart onto a map, I don't care. We need to get out of here so you can get your equilibrium back. I won't lose you," she said fiercely. "You're _mine,_ and I'm not done with you yet."

Arthur gave her a crooked smile. "Is that so?"

"That's exactly so." Her smile softened and matched his. She slipped her hand in his again, and she was heartened to feel his fingers tighten around hers. "We need to leave. Tonight or early tomorrow, however long it'll take your plane to be ready. Now let's go back and pack our things. I think we need to go somewhere warm and far away from all of this."

"I love you," Arthur said softly.

Ariadne's smile warmed him and seemed to fill the empty holes inside of him. "I love you, too, Arthur. Now let's get the hell out of here."

***

Eames knew he shouldn't have expected anything, but he felt abandoned. There was nothing in this house, nothing, and the two guest rooms that Arthur had appropriated for their use were empty. He couldn't find Arthur and Ariadne anywhere, and for a long while he wondered if this was their plan all along. Get him completely addled with sex and false reassurances, then run away as fast as they could.

God, he was so fucking blind. Last night had been a pity fuck, that last goodbye they couldn't quite verbalize.

He could barely breathe as his feet set to wandering about the house again. He couldn't feel his fingers or toes, and even his lips felt numb. His head swam dizzily, and he thought he was going to throw up. He would carve out his heart if he could, watch it beat in his palm and then throw it away; the damn thing had never done him any favors.

He didn't recognize the hallway he had taken this time, and found himself somewhere long abandoned and empty. There wasn't even the semblance of a servant dusting and rearranging things in this particular part of the house. Eames supposed he was in the floor directly above the suite Arthur's mother used on the first floor.

The first room he opened was a master bedroom, stripped bare of personal items. It had once been elegant, but everything in it was old and faded, patterns from a different generation still imprinted on the bedspread, curtains and wall hangings. No one lived here anymore, and great pains had been taken to take it apart. Eames closed the door quietly, then went to the next one. It was a large boy's room, scattered toys and artwork still pinned up to the walls. For some reason, Eames was drawn to the bright colors in the drawings, the stuffed animals still left on the shelves and the array of trucks and toy cars in brightly colored bins on the floor. The closet doors were open, revealing empty hanging rods. The dresser was empty as well, and there was nothing else to identify whose room it was, though Eames guessed that it once was Arthur's.

It was odd to think of Arthur as a young boy. Somehow, Eames kept picturing him as the pressed and edged security expert he had met at the J. Edgar Hoover building in DC.

The next bedroom was a mystery. It was obviously a little girl's room, filled with pinks and purples and tulle. There were more plush things and board books, thick chunky crayon drawings that were done in a toddler's hand. One of the walls was a painted mural of an open field full of flowers on a sunny day, horses and bunnies running around within the grass. Eames remembered Ariadne's impromptu maze of flowers in the dream she had set up for the SCU team in their fake sleep lab in DC, though it looked nothing like this. Hanging on the opposite wall were pictures of family, of a little girl in pigtails next to a young boy that had to be a young Arthur. Eames turned and looked at the closet, which had GABRIELLE painted on the door in large block letters, purples over pinks. Inside the closet were dresses and hooded sweaters, all in toddler sizes. He pulled open the dresser, revealing more clothing for a toddler, and there was a basket with baby powder, diaper cream and baby lotion.

He had a sinking feeling about Arthur's sister and why time seemed to have stopped in this house.

Heart pounding, Eames slammed the dresser drawer shut and left the room. The difficulty breathing was worse now, and he couldn't feel his hands or feet at all. Everything swam around him, and it was odd. The walls didn't feel quite real, and he had the urge to check his totem, though he had left that behind on the guest room floor. He rushed there, nearly tripping over his own two feet, and he kept grasping the lost keychain and keys in his clenched fist. Over and over, he tested the chess piece, and each time it came up as reality.

It still didn't feel real. None of this felt real.

"Eames?"

He looked up at Ariadne, standing in the doorway watching him with sad eyes. She always knew what was real and what wasn't, but Eames never knew. He had been fooled so many times now, his world upended more times than he cared to count. He had to check, but even then couldn't trust it. This wasn't the world he had signed up for.

"We have to go," Ariadne said softly. Eames heard a mournful note in it, and his heart clenched tighter in his chest. Arthur wasn't with her, so he had to be packing their things. They were leaving him behind in this mausoleum, just another forgotten, broken thing to be stuffed into an empty room. Perhaps Arthur's mother might find him one day, or maybe her nurse. He would be another artifact here, another thing collecting dust.

Ariadne came into the room and knelt beside him, concern in those caramel eyes. She gingerly placed an arm around his shoulders, steadying him. Eames hadn't even realized he was shaking, hadn't thought his distress was so obvious.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sure why he was apologizing.

"Do you have somewhere you want to go?" she asked.

His chest hurt. His head hurt. He had nowhere left to go, nothing he could rely on. He was alone, so painfully alone, and she might as well just put a gun to his head and pull the trigger. That would be kinder than letting him choke on his own fear.

Ariadne clasped his clenched hand in her free one. "I was thinking Portugal," she began, and the words didn't make sense to Eames at all. He didn't know anyone in Portugal, didn't know the language. He would be just as lost there as here, and there was no need to ship him there. She could just slit his throat and be done with it.

"We'll rent a house there, maybe?" she continued, her voice uncertain. "It should be warmer than here, not so many bad memories... We can all start over, figure this thing out."

Eames sucked in a breath. "We?"

Her fingers on his shoulder were tight. "I don't know how this is going to work," she said softly, leaning her forehead against his cheek. "I don't know what this is going to do to all of us, if it's going to change our friendship." She laughed suddenly. "Scratch that. I _know_ it's going to change our friendship. This whole thing is changing us, and I don't know what's going to happen with it. I do know this place is ugly, and we need to leave it."

"We?" he repeated, still not comprehending the words.

"You, me and Arthur," Ariadne told him, eyes clear and voice firm. "I am going to fix this if it kills me, and we're going to figure out how this is going to work. Do you hear me?"

Smiling a little, Eames could feel a breath rattle in his chest. "Yes, ma'am."

She shook him a little, playfully, a rueful smile on her face. "We'll figure it out, all right? I don't know what's going to happen. I can't promise anything. I wish I could. But I'll make this right for you somehow. We're going to help however we can."

"Why?" Eames rasped, earlier fears not forgotten. At some point they would figure out he wasn't worth saving. At some point, they would regret this intervention and leave him. Then he really would have nothing left, and there would be no point in going on.

"Because you're my friend," Ariadne whispered. "I don't leave any of them behind."

Eames tried to think of her colleagues in DC, of Yusuf, of her mother. She had left them all behind to be with Arthur, didn't she?

It wasn't the same, he reasoned. None of them _needed_ her the same way he did. They weren't broken without her. Even Annalise, in that awful time they all thought Ariadne was missing and possibly hurt, had been strong. She loved her daughter, worried after her and had dissolved into tears on more than one occasion. But she was strong enough not break or fold in on herself.

"I don't know how to go on," Eames admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You'll regret this, you and Arthur. You'll both regret saving me. Everyone else does."

"I'm not everyone else," Ariadne told him simply. "And neither is Arthur."

Eames thought of the empty bedrooms upstairs, of the little girl whose life appeared to stop as a toddler, of the blank stare Arthur's mother had given him, of the grief that ran through this house like a shroud. He hadn't wanted to understand Arthur, hadn't wanted to see behind the mask that he had worn. The pretty and polished surface was easy to hate. Eames didn't want to know that perhaps there was more to him than sheer psychopathic tendencies to kill.

Ariadne knew all this. She knew the details with certainty, what the _since_ referred to. It had to be why she connected with Arthur during her captivity, why she was able to say with perfect certainty that she knew what she was doing and had chosen her own path.

He shivered, and Ariadne simply held him tighter. "We're with you," she whispered fiercely into his ear. Eames was dimly aware of Arthur coming to stand in the hallway, hovering just outside the door to this bedroom. There were ties there between the two men, and not just because he had fucked Eames the night before. Something more was there, and it wasn't all on Eames' side of things. He could see Arthur's eyes shine with an emotion he couldn't name, and Eames almost shivered again at the sight of it. He didn't want to understand this, didn't want to be a part of this. It was outside of him, beyond him, and he didn't have the words for this.

"You're not alone," Ariadne whispered, pressing her lips against his temple. "You don't have to deal with it alone. We know," she said, voice slightly louder and more forceful. "We know what it's like, to be lost after that kind of dream. We know."

Oh, God. He had forgotten. Of all the things to forget from her profile, from the quiet words she had uttered in that dream café, Eames had forgotten about her abduction as a child. It was how she had developed that ability to always know whether she was in reality or not. It was reflex for her, something born out of necessity. Of course she would know what he felt like, how at odds he was feeling, how he was hovering just this side of a panic attack.

"I can't," Eames said, not aware of what he was saying. "I can't."

"We'll protect you," Ariadne told him. Her voice was firm, a shining beacon in the darkness of his thoughts. "We'll be there for you."

He clutched at her tight and raised his eyes back to Arthur's grim expression. "Thank you," Eames told them, not sure if they understood what he was saying. That strange look in Arthur's eyes hadn't shifted in the slightest. "I can't thank you enough."

"I know," he said, his voice sounding awful and pained. "That's not why we're doing this."

"Then why?"

"Because we do love you," Ariadne told him, pulling back to press her lips against his forehead carefully. "Not the same way you love us, I think, but we do love you."

Eames kept his totem clenched in his fist tight enough for the keys to cut into his skin. This was real, this was real, he wasn't dreaming this. He felt as if he was burning up, fever bright, eyes shining. Another push and he would fall apart again, sobbing as if he was a child. He couldn't do that again, couldn't give any more of himself away. He had to hold it all in, chest tight as if encased in iron. He could do it. He had done it for years, for longer than he cared to remember, and he could relearn the trick.

There was a trick to everything, if only he could remember it.

"It's time to go," Arthur said, his voice empty of any inflection. "This place isn't of any use to us any longer."

Eames thought of the rooms upstairs, of Arthur's mother gliding like a ghost with a pocketful of pills and empty eyes.

"You're right," he said, nodding. "There's nothing here for us."

Neither of them bought the smile he pasted onto his face, and he missed Ariadne's firm grip on his shoulders once it was gone. There was a spark of recognition in Arthur's eyes, something sharp and painful that dug at the void inside Eames' chest. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but it was there, lying between them. It was thick and ugly, some kind of bond he never would have thought to look for before this.

He needed them. God help him, he _needed_ them, and Eames was terrified of that need even more than he was terrified of being alone again.

Still, he kept his lips shut tight and let them bundle him off to Portugal. There were no goodbyes for Arthur's mother, no acknowledgment of why they were there other than Arthur pressing a bottle of her pills into Eames' hand before leaving the house. "She won't miss these," he told Eames in a flat voice. "You need them more right now anyway, I can tell."

"I'm fine," Eames lied.

"Take the fucking pills if you're going to have a panic attack," Arthur hissed, eyes hard and angry, syllables rigid and sharp. "We won't have been here for nothing."

Arthur had been a boy once. He had a sister once. He had parents once. Those things had been stripped from him, and a shell was all that was left. Eames had to remember that. Arthur didn't choose to be the thing that circumstances had made of him, just as Eames hadn't chosen to be placed into this situation. He didn't choose to love them in a dream, not really. He didn't choose to continue to love them. It was simply a part of him, rather like breathing.

"I'll take the pills," Eames promised, pocketing the bottle.

Appeased, Arthur nodded sharply and left.

***  
***


	13. Like It Or Not

The city of Faro was part of the Algarve region on the southern coast of Portugal. There was a heavy Moorish influence in the city's architecture, and winters in the Mediterranean were mild and generally rainy. The skies were clear when Arthur's pilot touched down at Faro Airport, and Arthur arranged to rent a fully furnished one bedroom apartment for their stay. The bedroom had a single massive king sized bed, and the apartment had views of the beaches. Eames stared at the crashing waves as Arthur and Ariadne unpacked, feeling out of sorts. They suggested visiting the museums or churches in the area, wineries or the Rio Formosa nature preserve.

It was surreal, to treat this like any other vacation. The Arthur and Ariadne that had lived only in his head had done the same with the Italian countryside.

He let them drag him to the museum of architecture, which used to be a sixteenth century convent. Ariadne obviously was in love with the place, and Arthur seemed to appreciate some of the details of the place. Eames simply followed, trying to feel like something other than a third wheel. He didn't feel as though he belonged, and it felt like this was out of pity more than anything else. He couldn't feel the easy camaraderie he used to feel with Ariadne. He took one of the lorazepam Arthur had given him, and it did take the edge off of his anxiety without making him too sedated.

"Time difference, perhaps," Eames said to Ariadne when he begged off of further tours. "I should just go lie down for a bit." He waved them in the direction of the apartment doors. "You go have fun, and I'll feel better after a nap."

Arthur's eyes bored into him, and Eames felt like the liar he was. "We'll check on you. I got you a new cell phone, and it's difficult to trace."

Difficult was not impossible, and Eames knew better than to try to call Mayhew. He merely nodded and curled up in the center of the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. He thought of calling Yusuf or Max, letting them know he was still alive. But that felt like a lie, too. He was a walking corpse. He just hadn't figured out how to die yet.

***

"I don't think coming here worked," Ariadne told Arthur with a pained sigh. "I thought it would help, going somewhere new."

"It's helped me," Arthur said slowly. "So there's that."

She threaded her fingers through his. "Feeling more like yourself?"

"Maybe." He had been tempted to snag the bottle of lorazepam from Eames and take a pill or two himself. Being in Faro helped to take the edge off of the flashbacks, but that didn't mean they were gone. They were at the level he was used to dealing with, and he could ignore them most of the time. Ariadne saw him startle when an idiot tourist dropped her bag on the street, and the press of her lips together made him sigh. "This is normal for me, Ariadne."

"I suppose we were always so busy before that I didn't notice it as much," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. "I thought it was the Network or the security job or taking me to meet various people neither of us should really know." Her hand tightened around his. "I should have looked harder at that. I should have known it still bothered you."

"I didn't want you to know," Arthur admitted.

"Why not?'

"The same reason you didn't tell anyone about your problems," he said shortly. "It's a weakness. It's something to be exploited, something that can crack me wide open or break me." He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. "I don't think you'd ever hurt me, not deliberately. But I can't take that chance."

"Even with me?"

"Sometimes especially with you," he admitted. They stopped in an alcove along the street. "If this goes wrong, you have too much against me. I'd get sent to prison or executed."

"I'd never." She cupped his face in her hands. "And I've got the same blood on my hands now, if you recall. I'm just as guilty as you are, just as likely to be locked away."

Arthur shivered and pulled her into his embrace. "I don't want you hurt by this," he whispered solemnly. "Now I really have something to lose."

She didn't know what he was talking about, but it didn't matter. "You can't lose me," Ariadne told him, pressing her fingers into his arms and pulling herself up enough to kiss his lips. "You can't _ever_ lose me."

Arthur could feel her lips over his, as well as the ghostly press of a man long since gone. His throat closed up and he barely managed to get his gag reflex under control. He hadn't thought it would be like this, since Eames was nothing like his boyhood captor. There was no measured cruelty in Eames, no cold calculation. There was nothing to compare the two of them, not even in physical appearance. Eames' touch had been reverent and caring, as if he couldn't believe he wasn't dreaming anymore.

Memories of the past used to buoy him up when he went over the Ghost Network with a fine toothed comb, when it seemed to be a lost cause. But the complaints were there, the attacks were hiding in the words said and unsaid, the pain inherent in the pixels on the screen. _I know what you are,_ he had told his first victim, all those years ago. _I'm going to stop this, and you're never going to do this ever again._

Maybe it would have all gone away if he had found his boyhood captor. Or maybe it wouldn't have, and he would have been left with more questions about Gabrielle. Ariadne was right; he used to wonder what was so wrong with him that no one wanted him. His captor had thrown him away after two days, spiriting away with Gabrielle into the darkness from which he came. His mother had retreated into depression and anxiety and pills, had locked herself into the Geneva house and had never come out after the divorce. His father had buried himself in his work, and none of the parade of nannies could ever get close to Arthur. He held them at arm's length, knowing they didn't give a damn about him, only their impressive paychecks.

Only Ariadne cared about him, and he would be damned before he lost her, too.

They made their way back to the apartment and found Eames asleep on the bed, curled up and looking miserable even in his sleep. Ariadne looked at Arthur in concern, and he found himself following her almost woodenly.

It was like looking at himself in the first few years after his abduction. It was eerie, even if he'd told Ariadne he knew what Eames felt like. He saw Ariadne stroke Eames' shoulder tenderly, as if from a distance, and he wondered if he could even feel his hands anymore. He sat down beside Ariadne heavily, and Eames woke soon after.

For a moment, the look on his face was one of sheer terror, but it subsided. "Didn't mean to be a drag," he rasped, and Arthur thought those words were familiar, too.

Ariadne was stroking his shoulder, and Arthur reached out and pushed Eames' hair back from his forehead. Both of them looked at him, Ariadne in concern and Eames with startled pain. Arthur tamped down on the memories threatening to consume him. "We never said you were. Trust me, we'd tell you if we thought that."

Eames let out a bark of startled laughter and let his clenched fists ease a little. "Right, then. That seems fair enough, yeah?"

"Absolutely," Ariadne told him, leaning down to kiss his temple tenderly. "You sure you're okay in here by yourself? It's beautiful outside."

Eames couldn't seem to come up with a good enough excuse to stay away from them, and he found himself leaning into Arthur's touch at the top of his head. "I should stay here a bit, figure out what I want to do with my time."

Arthur felt as if he was moving underwater, but he leaned forward and kissed Eames' forehead and let his hand slide along his back gently. "We'll help with whatever you decide."

"Thank you."

None of them could track how it started later. Arthur's and Eames' mouths met, and Eames had his hand tight in Arthur's shirt. His other was on Ariadne's knee, holding on as if she was the one thing keeping him steady. It probably wasn't too far off the mark; he kept feeling as though he was spinning out of control.

Arthur pushed Eames over onto his back, his mouth still slanted over the other man's. Ariadne's breath was warm by Arthur's ear, and she followed his motion, ready to take over if he couldn't do this any longer.

Fuck his past. He had been a victim then, and he was different now. He shattered dreams and built new worlds and he was better than someone who had hidden in the dark to steal away children and warp them to his will.

Arthur slid his tongue into Eames' mouth, his fingers sliding through the hair at the nape of his neck. Ariadne slid her hands beneath Eames' shirt, along the bare skin of his chest and belly. She undid his pants and pulled them off, leaving Eames bare to her. Her eyes were wide and searching, seeing no hesitation in Arthur at all. She took Eames into her mouth, making him gasp into Arthur's mouth and cant his hips toward her mouth. One hand was holding Arthur's shoulder tightly, and the other rested gently on the top of Ariadne's head.

At some point, Eames broke his kiss with Arthur to draw his shirt over his head, leaving him bare in front of them. It wasn't even strange that the other two were clothed, that he was the one sprawled across the bed and gasping for breath. If he had thought they regretted the start of this triad relationship, he would never be able to guess at it now.

His eyes slid shut as Arthur pressed his lips over Eames' face, his hand light across his stomach, nails scraping lightly. Eames moaned at the feel of Ariadne's mouth on him, her hands on his hips holding him steady. He nearly sobbed at the feel of Arthur's mouth on his neck, at the way his tongue traced circles across his skin, as his teeth ran along the edge of Eames' earlobe. "Too much," he hissed at one point, drowning in the sensation of them. "I'm going to come."

Ariadne didn't stop, and she only sucked harder on him. With a groan, Eames pressed his head back into the mattress, and Arthur slid his hand across Eames' jaw. "Come for us," Arthur said into his ear, his own eyes closing. He'd heard those words before, said them in the high pitched tones of a child.

Maybe he couldn’t do this, after all.

Eames nearly sobbed as he came into Ariadne's mouth, holding Arthur's hand tightly in his. His body was loose and sprawled, and he watched almost helplessly as Ariadne crawled up his body to press her mouth to Arthur's jaw. She layered kisses across his face tenderly, her fingers light as they danced across his chest and arms. They knelt beside Eames, Arthur seeming to draw strength and comfort from Ariadne's touch. He was missing something, he knew, something important and vital. If he didn't feel so out of sorts, he might have caught it. But then he was too occupied with the sight of their clothes coming off, of Arthur taking a breast into his mouth and sliding his fingers between Ariadne's thighs. Eames watched as Ariadne thrust her hips against his touch, as she grasped the back of his head and moaned his name in ecstasy. He was almost afraid to touch them, to disrupt this balance between them. Tentatively, he ran his fingers along Arthur's hip, sliding down to his bent knees over the bed. Ariadne had his cock in her hand, stroking erratically as her breath fractured.

When she came, Arthur kept going, but lifted his head to kiss her. Eames could smell the scent of her, could feel his own breath quicken at the sight of them together. Arthur tipped her onto her back beside Eames on the bed, then groped blindly for the nightstand. He had already transferred their supply of condoms and lube there when they unpacked, and Eames had to help him tear the packet open.

He licked his lips nervously as Arthur rolled on the condom. "Can I...?" he began in an unsure voice. "Would it be all right for us both to be inside you, Ariadne?" he asked, sliding his palm across her flat belly.

Her eyes were wide and dark in lust, and she nodded. They shifted positions so that she sank down over Arthur's sheathed cock with a sigh. Eames grabbed the lube and another condom and started to work her body slowly. Her thrusts were slow and shallow over Arthur, and she said soft nonsensical things about how good he felt, how much she wanted him, how much she loved him. Forever, she said, and she meant it.

Eames could only wish for a fraction of that, and even then knew it could never be his.

Once Eames felt she was loose enough for him and he was hard enough for it to work, he slid the condom over his cock and slowly pushed into her. Ariadne gasped and groaned, wriggling around enough to make Arthur hiss and buck his hips up into her. "Easy," he murmured into her shoulder. "It's just me," he said, rough fingers tracing restless patterns into the soft skin of her stomach. "Relax."

She did, and they slowly began to find a rhythm between the three of them. Eames kept his eyes closed, breath ragged in his chest. _I love you,_ he traced into her skin with his lips. He didn't know when it started, if it was before or after the dreaming, but that didn't make it any less true. He loved them both, and he would rather carve his own heart out than ruin their lives.

Ariadne's entire body tensed as she approached another orgasm, and Eames bit back his own cry of release as she did so. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. For a moment, he could feel at peace.

She lay between the two men afterward, and Eames felt himself falling into a peaceful sleep, feeling as though this was the way it should have been from the start. It didn't make any sense, really, as what he knew wasn't real. It had the perfect sense of dream logic, and it was enough of a comfort to let him fall asleep beside Ariadne, an arm slung around her waist.

She faced Arthur, her hand on his shoulder. Arthur's expression was shuttered, but she knew him well enough by now to read his eyes and the level of tension in his body. "This was easier for you, then," Ariadne commented. He nodded slowly. "You don't like that it is, do you?"

He ran his fingers over her lips. "Some part of me doesn't want to share you. I don't want to remember what it was like before, when I was alone. And I know I don't want to remember what happened all those years ago."

"This isn't what happened when you were eight."

Arthur's eyes shifted uneasily. "No, not exactly. This time, I'm volunteering."

Ariadne ran her thumb across Arthur's lower lip. "And this time, you have me. You're not alone in this, you're not being forced to do this. You do what you choose and only what you choose. It doesn't go any farther than you're willing to go."

His eyes flicked to Eames' boneless form behind her. "It depends on what he needs."

"No," she said firmly, shifting his face so that he looked her in the eye. "He loves us. That means it would kill him to know how much you're hurting because of this. It means he will figure out something that gives him what he needs without it being painful, without it reminding you of everything. This isn't about your sacrificing yourself. This is about us figuring out what we are and aren't willing to do."

Arthur had to smile at her firm tone. "Yes, dear."

Her lips quirked into a smile. "Damn straight."

For a long moment, all they could hear was Eames' deep and even breathing. "We'll figure something out, Arthur. It can work out."

He nodded, then turned and pressed himself against her, his back to her front. Her arms went around him immediately, and he sighed as her fingers stroked his stomach comfortingly. He needed her so much it was painful to think about how empty his life had been before her. He had only thought to save her from herself, to keep her from destroying everything she knew in a vain attempt to capture him. She had the same history, the same kind of demons, the same need to see justice done. Arthur had never imagined that they could be so vital to one another.

He had always known Eames was an idealist, that he was so gung ho about doing the right thing, about keeping his country safe. After a fashion, they were all the same on that front.

Now he had their same history of abuse, even if it wasn't as clear or obvious as theirs had been. His mind had been turned inside out for another's purpose, and now he was left to deal with the remnants of a life unlived and the reality he couldn't accept. Like it or not, he was just like them, and Arthur felt his hatred for Eames bleed away.

Maybe something could be built out of this debacle after all.

***

Ariadne went to the market to get food for the kitchens; this being a tourist friendly town, it wouldn't be too troublesome to find someone that spoke English or French at the market. That left Eames and Arthur alone in the apartment. Arthur had unpacked everything already, and he was taking the moment to go through mail on his laptop. Eames stayed by the window, dressed in jeans and a pullover and feeling out of sorts. This was like the dream, too. Arthur checking the Ghost Network in the morning, Ariadne off doing errands and Eames settled somewhere close by to do whatever it was that he wanted to do.

The only thing was, he had nothing to do.

Eames watched Arthur as his eyes flicked over the screen, as his fingers flew across the keyboard. "I've a theory," he began. It was rather like ripping open a blister or picking at his cuticles until the skin tore and bled. He shouldn't do it, but he couldn't help himself. "You're doing this because of what happened to your family all those years ago."

Arthur went so very still, fingers poised over the keyboard and his expression stony. His eyes were deep wells of darkness, the only warning Eames would get.

He ignored it, of course.

"I met your Mum," Eames continued, watching Arthur's reaction closely. "All she would say is that you never came back, not _since,_ and I found the empty rooms upstairs."

Arthur didn't even seem to be breathing, and Eames could have easily mistaken him for a wax model of a man. The expression on his face was frozen into a carefully neutral one, only his eyes alive in his face. Eames remembered how casually he had leaned against the doorframe of Ariadne's old apartment building, the carefully layered threats delivered without inflection or change in his expression. Now he knew it came from his mother, from the distance to other people that he must have had for years on end.

The silence was painful, twisting between them, and Eames faltered. He wasn't sure this was a good idea anymore. He should be grateful Arthur was willing to put up with him, that Ariadne still thought of him as a friend.

Of course, if not for them, he might as well just put a bullet in his head. No one else really needed him. Yusuf was set, Max had his family and there was no one of consequence in his life anymore. He could be easily swept aside or killed. It was why MI6 had chosen him, wasn't it?

"Do I remind you of him, then? The one that took your sister away?" Eames pushed forward anyway, watching Arthur with a wary gaze. "Is that why this feels off?"

Arthur carefully and methodically sent the message he had been composing, then shut his laptop with a quiet click. "I'm going out," he said. His voice was flat, but Eames could see the tense set of his shoulders and the way his hands seemed almost curled and ready to strike out at him.

"I am, aren't I?" Eames guessed. "Do I look like him? Sound like him? Is it something I can even change?" He stood when Arthur did, moving alongside him. Every instinct in him was screaming at him to stop, this was a mistake. "What's so wrong with me that you can't look me in the goddamn eyes?"

He made as if to keep moving, but Eames couldn't let him. He had miscalculated, badly, missing some detail he should have known. This was what he did for a living, after all. He saw things that the others didn't, he put the pieces together into patterns that fit even if no one else on the team was able to see it. There was something else about Arthur that he had missed, simmering beneath his skin and threatening to burst through. Eames was triggering something, and he could see the flash of anger and pain and helplessness in Arthur's eyes. Eames reached for him, knowing the effort would be futile but having to try anyway.

Arthur spun him around and smashed him into the wall of the bedroom, not even panting with the effort. "Keep your mouth shut," he hissed, fingers biting into Eames' arm. They felt like steel bands, and Arthur was a solid presence at Eames' back. "Stay the fuck away from me," Arthur snarled, voice shaking even though his body was rock solid.

Blood singing in his ears, Eames wondered how he had missed it before. "He took you, too," he breathed, eyes sliding shut. "It wasn't just her."

Letting go as if singed, Arthur abruptly pulled back. His mask slipped for a moment, just a moment, just long enough for Eames to see the dark knowledge confirmed.

"Am I like him?" Eames asked quietly, tentatively.

Eames could see Arthur swallow convulsively for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. If Arthur decided to punch him, Eames would go down like a sack of bricks. The delirium he had experienced included high fevers and muscle tightness to the point of damage, and he could still feel a residual weakness weeks later.

"No," Arthur said finally, licking his lips slowly. "You're like me."

Throat closed, Eames could only stare at Arthur in shock. "How?"

"They broke you for fun, just to see it done." Eames winced, but he supposed he deserved that for how he had handled this. "You found a way to cope, as far down as you were, but you're still left wondering what was so wrong with you in the first place."

That definitely told Eames more than he had wanted to know, and he closed his eyes as he leaned against the bedroom wall. "So what's wrong with me, Arthur?" he asked with a sigh. "Have you figured out that part yet?"

"You tell me," Arthur replied, voice tight.

There was still anger thrumming beneath his voice, that trace of pain Eames had latched onto. Eames supposed he should be grateful that Arthur wasn't swinging at him. But every gift came with a price, and Eames supposed that cracking open his chest for Arthur was going to be it. He owed him that much, anyway.

"I had nothing left to lose," Eames replied, opening his eyes. "There was nothing in England for me. The only people that give a shit about me are you, because of Ariadne, Ariadne, Yusuf, Max and maybe Mayhew. He'd gotten my ass out of a sling on more than one occasion, but Mayhew's still my boss, so maybe he doesn't even count. MI6 picked me because no one would miss me if I died. That's what's wrong with me."

"You contradict yourself," Arthur said sharply, turning away. Instead of heading for the door, he went back to sit on the bed. He reached out and picked up his laptop. His hands no longer shook, and he seemed to be back in his element. "In the same breath, there are people that would miss you and that won't care if you're gone."

"They'd move on as if I wasn't here. It's not the same."

Arthur opened the laptop and spared him a glance. "Maybe you need to think of the real reason MI6 wanted you."

"I've talked about this before," Eames told him tiredly, rubbing at his temples. He moved back to his seat by the window and looked down at the traffic below. "It doesn't much matter if I'm not going back to England."

"It matters, Eames," Arthur said, speaking as if to a child. Eames turned and saw that intense look in Arthur's eyes, one that was chilling to behold. He had retreated back into his comfort zone, and he was now the security expert again. "Think back. What were you investigating?"

Eames shoved his hand into his pocket to grasp his keys and totem. It was still terrifyingly real, keys cutting into his palm. "A sleeper cell. You know that."

 _"Think,"_ Arthur hissed. "Use that mind of yours. It hadn't all gone to rot in the dreams."

He looked over at the window, not able to tolerate Arthur's gaze. "Was that a compliment?" he asked in a snarky tone of voice, unable to help himself.

"Who else knew you were going?" Arthur prodded, voice cool and smooth. "Who else would care if you went missing now?"

"What the fuck are you getting at?" Eames asked him tiredly. "Are you just winding me up because of what I asked you?"

Arthur's expression softened for a brief moment before it became the businessman's mask again. Eames missed it. "We'll discuss that later..."

"No," Eames said briskly, shaking his head. "Before Ariadne gets back and complicates things, we need to discuss it now. I got it wrong, I didn't see it the way I should have, but I didn't mean to ask to hurt you. I need to understand why you're doing this. In my dreams, it was because of Ariadne. You were only in it because of her, but that's not the reason now."

"It's because of her that I tracked you down."

"You wouldn't fuck me just because of that," Eames said bluntly. He saw Arthur's eyes flicker, but he didn't know what it meant. Ariadne might, but Arthur probably would never talk to him this openly with her around. He only had eyes for her then, and Eames needed to know if this was all a pity fuck or not.

"No," Arthur agreed quietly. "I wouldn't."

"So why?" Eames asked softly. "You didn't even like me before."

"I could have," Arthur said with a sigh. "If you weren't trying to shut me down or get Ariadne back. We could have been friends in another lifetime. I was gone for two days. It took me two months to recover according to the doctors, but it wasn't the same. _I_ wasn't the same."

Eames had the feeling that Arthur had never explained this to anyone else but Ariadne before, and he was reluctant to break the spell forming between them. "And?"

"You shouldn't have to recover alone," Arthur told him quietly, eyes dropping down to his laptop.

"But you haven't really, have you?" Eames guessed, still able to feel the plaster of the wall against his cheeks, Arthur's fingers on his arms like iron bands. So much rage and pain and disappointment bound up inside him, and a trail of dead bodies in his wake. He killed the ones that abused dreamers, leaving them as broken as their victims. That he continued to do it told Eames that Arthur's demons weren't exorcised yet.

Arthur looked up, eyes hollow. Eames suddenly knew how he felt, could feel the endless stretch of hours of loneliness yawning wide in front of him. He understood Arthur, even if he had never wanted to before, and suddenly realized that his love for the dream Arthur had been such a shallow, brittle thing. This Arthur was more nuanced and damaged than he had ever been able to guess, and he was exactly the kind of soul Eames was drawn to.

"I'm still working on it," Arthur allowed softly.

"I suppose we'll work on it together, then," Eames murmured, and he was gratified to see Arthur's nod and smile.

***  
***


	14. The Weight Of Dreams

_Who else knew you were going? Who else would care if you went missing now?_ Arthur had asked him. In the days that followed, Eames tried to ponder that question.

Eames and Arthur didn't discuss their conversation again when Ariadne returned, and they seemed to watch each other warily for a while. She was somewhat surprised when Eames didn't seem to come on to her right away, which had prompted an irritable "It wasn't all about shagging in the dream, you know." She had flushed in response, but hadn't said anything after that. In the nights following, he tried to keep to the edge of the bed, as far away from Arthur as he could, though sometimes it didn't work out that way. At times he found himself in the middle, and once when Ariadne couldn't sleep Eames found himself lying next to Arthur. He tried to keep his hands to himself, he really did, but Arthur didn't seem to bristle when Eames' arm fell over his torso as he was falling asleep.

During the day, Eames went with them to museums or parks. Most of the time he could pretend that they were simply three friends on vacation together. He could ignore the hollow feeling he had when he saw Ariadne and Arthur holding hands, or when he knew Ariadne's touch was more platonic than anything else.

Arthur's question haunted him over those days. What had they wanted him for, if not because he was expendable?

Somewhat fittingly, it was a nightmare that seemed to give him a starting point to work out the answer to that question.

Eames was walking along the streets of Old Town in Mombasa, Max beside him. "If Shelley's still alive, she's keeping a low profile. She would, you know," Max was telling him. "I'd put my money on Eden telling them that you were in trouble. She's a nice enough sort, pretty honest as far as that lot goes."

"You warned me to back out," Eames told Max, frowning at his friend.

"Eames, I told you back out _years ago._ I told you it wasn't worth the effort to say in the Crown's good graces. You should've left when I did."

"I like the Yard," Eames said, shrugging. It was an old argument, one they've had a thousand times over in the past seven years. If anything, it was an argument that Max had pulled out even more often over the past few months. "I'm fine, I told you."

"No, you're not," Max told him, voice hard. Eames hadn't heard that tone in years, not since the first time he'd been in Mombasa. _Callie, shut the fuck up and do what you're told or goddammit I_ will _leave you behind!_ he had shouted at her, just when shit was starting to hit the fan. Eames hadn't thought of that in some time; Calliope's presumed death had weighed on him too heavily, drowning out everything else that had happened.

"Look. I can look after myself, Max."

"Then why are _they_ looking after you? Why are _they_ the ones keeping you from eating a bullet? Why didn't you come to me?"

Eames looked up and saw that they weren't in Old Town anymore. He was standing at the airport with Max, a British passport in hand with a name on it that wasn't his own. "I have this ready for you," Max was saying, voice tight. "I've had everything set up for you, and you went and had to throw yourself back into the lion's den."

"I'm not in MI6 anymore. That's the entire break I needed."

"You should've come to me," Max said, eying him dangerously. Bombs were starting to go off, and there was shrapnel flying everywhere. Miraculously, neither man seemed to get hit with it, even if everyone around them had started to scream in pain. "I have contacts, you know that. I can do things you wouldn't even dream of. You're asleep at the wheel, boyo, and I don't like it one bit."

"Max, you're not my keeper," Eames told him exasperatedly. They'd had that iteration of this conversation a thousand times, too.

"You're my friend. I want what's best for you, and staying in Her Majesty's service isn't doing any favors for you. For all we know, the Dream Killer's still after your blood. You've come the closest to catching the bastard, and we all know you're good at what you do. It's only a matter of time before you come even closer. He's going to take you out, the same as your friend at the Bureau. And then where will we be?"

Eames pinched the bridge of his nose, and the noise around them stopped. "I'm off the case, no need to anyone to hunt me down. I'm safe as houses, Max. I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

Eames looked at Max, startled to see his eye sockets empty and IV lines along his arms. "Max?"

Yusuf was behind him, monitoring a laptop screen with vital sign readings on it. They were back in Nash's illegal sleep lab, and Yusuf looked up at Eames. "He's going to crash if I don't do something about it. That cocktail is too much for his system."

There was the erratic beeping to coincide with a heartbeat, and Yusuf gently pushed Eames out of the way. "Go on, go tell them what's going on. They'll want to know."

Eames frowned at Yusuf, not understanding, but he looked up and saw Ariadne, Arthur, Cobb and Saito standing on a raised platform, their hands clenched on the railing. The lab looked more like an operating theater from the 1800's, and Eames looked at Max on the table. His eyes were empty, tongue lolling from out of the side of his mouth.

"You can't save them all, Inspector," Saito told him in smooth tones. "Sometimes you have to determine who the acceptable loss is."

Cobb nodded, agreeing with him. "The only thing that matters is finishing the job. You have to get it done. This was _your_ mistake, and you have to fix it. I can't believe you got this far when you should know better. You got sloppy!"

Eames shook his head to clear it, then looked at Ariadne. She was looking at him with mournful eyes, then backed up a step to crash into Arthur. "I can only go so far," she said with a mournful expression. "I want to help, I really do. I don't know how to do what you want me to."

"Forget them," Max told him from the table, eyes gone and chest cracked open wide. Eames could see his heart beating in his chest, his lungs inflating and deflating with every breath. Yusuf was doing what he could at the computers, altering the composition of all the chemicals coming in through the IV, but Eames knew that Max was fighting a losing battle. "I told you to come with me," Max continued. "I can pull strings you never knew existed. I can put them all to sleep. I can make you disappear. Eames, you have to let me help you."

Eames shot awake, unable to answer Max. He tumbled out of the bed and locked himself into the bathroom for a while, breathing heavily.

He ignored the knocking on the door, as well as Ariadne's concerned calls. The knocking swiftly became frantic pounding, and he could distinctly hear Arthur's annoyed "Eames! Open the goddamn door!"

He rolled to his feet, able to recognize that he moved more like himself again. He looked at the two of them with bleary eyes, almost surprised to see identical concerned looks on their faces. He'd thought that there was distance between them still, that whatever had been building up between the three of them had been irreparably broken. It surprised him even more when Ariadne launched herself at him, and Arthur smacked the back of his head. "Idiot. We thought you were going to try to kill yourself."

"The fuck?" he sputtered, startled. He honestly hadn't been thinking of that. Much.

"Pulling away from us these past few days," Arthur told him.

"You've been so distant," Ariadne said, looking up at him. Her lower lip trembled slightly, as if she was trying not to cry. Eames wondered at it, and looked up into Arthur's tight expression in shock. "You matter, Eames. You do. I don't know what it is, but you _matter."_

"If you weren't trying to kill yourself, what was it?" Arthur asked. Eames almost thought he could hear anxiety in his tone, and his eyes were flashing. It was something he couldn't quite understand, though he wanted to.

"Nightmare, that's all. Can't remember most of it now." He looked down at Ariadne, still clinging to him. "Really. I'm not slipping you the mickey on this, okay? It was just... odd and not right, and I just needed time to clear my head, is all."

"Are you sure?" Ariadne insisted, and damned if she didn't actually sound frightened.

"Come back to bed, asshole," Arthur said when Eames nodded. His touch on Eames' arm was much gentler than he would have guessed, and he stared up at the ceiling once they maneuvered him between them in bed. "Just wake one of us up if you have a nightmare that bad, all right?" Arthur told him in a low tone. "You're not going through this alone, remember?"

Eames thought about Arthur's dark expression when he said they were the same. Maybe Arthur did know about this part, had gone through it alone when he was a child. That didn't make him feel any better about it, though. "It was stupid. You don't want to hear it," he told them, sounding almost petulant to his own ears.

"Yes, we do," Ariadne said, sliding a hand across his chest.

"The only part I remember now is that Max was there, same old arguments. Even with his eyes cut out and his chest cracked open, still after me to disappear, saying he could help me get out from government notice."

"Why would he do that?" Ariadne asked.

"Because of you two," Eames admitted with a sigh. "I couldn't tell anyone who the Dream Killer was, now could I? So he thinks he's after me and you've been dead for months."

"Sorry," Ariadne murmured softly.

"Not your fault entirely," Eames told her, patting the hand on his chest gently. Arthur propped himself up on one elbow to look down at Eames. "What?"

"How much does Max know about what happened in Mombasa?"

Eames frowned at Arthur. "This time? Just that I was going."

"This time?"

Eames watched Arthur's eyebrows rise toward his hairline and wondered at it. "Yeah. He was there when things went tits up seven years ago. Until three weeks ago, I'd thought only the two of us survived it."

"Uh oh," Ariadne murmured, pushing herself up onto an elbow as well. "I know that look."

Arthur's eyes shone, fever bright. "He's erased himself from the records, then."

"So?" Eames asked, frowning at him. "Why is that important?"

"Why erase himself if everyone thinks he's dead?"

"He wanted out. He rigged things afterward with the documents so that MI6 could never track him down or reel him back in. He kept offering to do the same for me, but I didn't want that. I _liked_ working at the Yard."

"And MI6 got you working for them on this again," Arthur mused, eyes unfocused as he thought. "I don't like this. It doesn't make sense."

Eames sighed. "I'd gone over all of it plenty of times in the dream. It is what it is."

"But wait, we still don't know what the hell happened," Ariadne said, shaking her head. "You might've told the _other_ us, but we still don't know."

He opened his mouth, then shut it, realizing she was right. He started slowly, describing the case as he had summarized it during the dream. Everything he knew about Milton, the things he had suspected, what he'd thought he would have to do to get to Milton in Mombasa. He couldn't help but mention the dream Ariadne's thoughts that Milton could have led Calliope astray by inception, rather than the other way around.

"You've thought she was dead for the past seven years. And Milton was in plain sight working for MI6," Ariadne pointed out. "How involved could he have been in that cell?"

"The thing about sleeper cells is that sometimes not even all of the members know who they are. Or they might know one cell but not another that's working for the same aim."

"Someone would have noticed if Milton was gone that often. He was based out of MI6, you said," Ariadne pointed out. "You would've seen a pattern of some kind, I'm sure."

"There wasn't any pattern I could see. Milton went where he was told to go by MI6, he did the job there, hung about to see if he was needed, then went home. It's why they had nothing solid to go on, apparently. Mailand, my contact, didn't suspect anything for _years."_

"So what started it?"

Eames frowned, thinking back. It felt like he had closed the case months ago, even if it really was only three weeks ago. "His behavior was starting to change earlier this year."

"Anything in his case load?"

"Not that Mailand knew about. I looked over whatever files I could before I left, but it seemed fairly straightforward. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Frowning, Arthur got up from the bed and went to get his laptop. "For crying out loud, Arthur, it's almost four in the morning!" Ariadne said, exasperated. Eames grinned at her tone, getting the feeling this wasn't the first time he had done such a thing.

"I wonder..." Arthur began, almost to himself. Ariadne sighed as he sat up against the headboard, pillow at his back, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his face.

She turned and landed on her back in a huff. "He'll be at that thing until he falls over. Might as well go to bed."

"We're in bed, darling," Eames drawled with a smile.

Ariadne poked him in the side playfully. "You know what I meant."

Arthur snorted as they moved to jostle each other on the bed, as if any of the awkwardness over the prior week was gone. Ariadne somehow tumbled over on top of Eames and used the opportunity to smack the laptop cover shut. "That can wait until morning."

"It _is_ morning," Arthur pointed out in a reasonable tone. "And you can still sleep while I work. I'm not disturbing you."

She stuck out her tongue at him. "It disturbs me that you're not sleeping. You already haven't been sleeping well lately."

Eames looked up at him guiltily, aware of the fact that he was probably triggering all sorts of memories that were best left hidden. Arthur caught his expression and snorted. "It's not all you, Eames," he said in a dismissive tone.

"But some of it is," Eames told him.

With a sigh, Arthur put the laptop aside on the nightstand. "You're so determined to take on any guilt you can." He shifted position so that he was lying on his side next to them, head propped up on his arm. His touch was light on Eames' shoulder, and his head was next to Ariadne's. "Even if it isn't yours." His eyes seemed to say _I know how this works, too,_ and Ariadne sighed softly, her hand slowly snaking around his jaw. She ran her fingers over the stubble gently, grounding him. It only reminded Eames that she went through this as well. They both knew the irrational guilt that wrapped itself around him like a shroud.

 _You need to get away from me,_ Eames wanted to tell them. _I'm poison. I'll just ruin whatever you have going. I should stop this._ He couldn't make himself say the words. He would lose even the little bit of them that he had, and he wasn't willing to do that. He had lost everything else so far.

"Go to sleep," Ariadne murmured, cutting off his tangled thoughts. She pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw and rolled back onto her side of the bed. "I can hear you thinking, and none of it is any good."

No, it wasn't, but it comforted Eames to know that they still knew each other that well. It had terrified him that he had changed so much while in the dreaming. Every time she had asked him to talk to her, he had wondered if he was fundamentally flawed or warped in some way. People didn't stay that far down and come out unscathed. Far too often, people's minds broke apart. He still wasn't convinced his own mind was sound.

"A few hours' sleep might do you some good," Arthur said, settling onto his back. "You need perspective on this. Right now you have none."

True, but it still hurt to hear.

"Right, then," he murmured, more to satisfy their need to hear his response than because he actually felt it. "Sleep. Then I can try to figure it all out."

"Exactly," Arthur said approvingly. "Good night."

Eames hated how much he craved Arthur's approval, how much he needed to hear the satisfied tone to Ariadne's voice. Feeling them on either side of him made him feel almost normal again, whatever that was, and he _knew_ with certainty that he didn't feel this way prior to being plugged into Calliope's PASIV. He needed them so much, and they didn't really need him at all. Their lives would go on just fine without him.

It hurt so much, he was sure it would kill him someday soon.

***

Eames woke with his arms and legs tangled around Ariadne, his face pressed into the curve of her shoulder. Her breathing was soft and regular, indicating that she was still asleep. He couldn't feel Arthur at his back, and for a moment he felt a blinding sense of panic. _Where did he go?_ Eames thought, extricating himself with some difficulty. He rubbed at his eyes, seeing the sunlight streaming in through the window. After their middle of the night discussion, he had apparently slept in.

Arthur looked up from the armchair he had parked next to the window, feet up and laptop perched precariously on his knees. He had some kind of file open on his lap in front of the computer, and he was looking between the files and the computer screen.

"About time you woke up," he said absently, eyes still on his laptop. After a moment he looked up at Eames' confused expression. "It's nearly eleven. She gets cranky without sleep, so I thought I'd let her sleep in."

"I feel better," he remarked, slowly sliding out of bed. He did, too. He felt rested, even if he still felt incredibly guilty and horrified at himself for needing them. He was an utter fuckup, and they couldn't see that. He had gotten two of his teams killed. Even if he felt ready to return to England and get back to work, how could he ever face Mayhew or the rest in his department? That sort of thing smacked of poor leadership and terrible oversight. No one would be able to trust his judgment again.

"You don't entirely look it, but that kind of thing doesn't change overnight," Arthur remarked. It was an idle tone, but his eyes were sharp. No doubt this was how he was able to lure his victims and make people believe he had a soul.

That wasn't terribly charitable, and Eames wanted to beg Arthur's forgiveness, even if the other man couldn't hear his thoughts.

Dammit, he was a complete and utter mess.

"I'm going to get myself more put together," Eames said, heading for the bathroom. His stomach actually rumbled, which made Arthur smile. It softened his features and made him seem more approachable and human. Somehow he had gotten that smile right in his dreams. He managed to suppress a shudder as he went to the bathroom, Arthur moving his things aside to start waking up Ariadne. Eames supposed they would all go out to eat, since Ariadne seemed to do most of the cooking so far. Arthur was passable at easy things, which was unlike how his dream had gone.

He really had to stop comparing their real selves to his dream versions of them.

Eames leaned his head against the cool tiles, feeling the hot water fall over him. He turned up the heat a bit more, just shy of scalding, needing to feel something other than the misery that seemed to plague his every waking moment. He was an untrustworthy fool, and a bad friend to boot. Nearly a month after Mombasa and he hadn't let any of his friends know he was still alive. Yusuf knew, as he had coached Arthur through what to do while he was out of it. That was Eames' excuse for not calling the chemist himself. But there was no excuse for why he hadn't called Max, or at least notify the British government that he was alive.

Well, on that front, he knew exactly why he was silent. He had decided in the dreaming to let go of his past life, and he didn't feel any connection to his former profession any longer. Even if Arthur and Ariadne didn't want him anymore, he still couldn't imagine going back to his cramped office with the reams of paperwork everywhere, trudging through endless files and morgues and mutilated bodies dumped by the side of the road.

Eames finally got out of the shower and toweled himself off. He hadn't brought anything with him other than last night's boxers he had slept in. With a sigh, he left with a towel wrapped around his waist. _This is something normal people do,_ he told himself firmly. _It's not a come on, even if doing this in the dream led to Ariadne whipping it off and getting down on her knees, then Arthur coming in for a kiss..._

 _He quickly put a stop to the memory. That way laid bad thoughts. That hadn't been real._

 _Arthur lofted an eyebrow at him that he blithely ignored. Ariadne trudged to the bathroom, rubbing at her eyes. "Oh! This is enough steam to drown in!" she commented before shutting the door to take care of her morning routine. Eames had paid close attention, and his dreaming version of her hadn't been too different._

 _He was doing it again. He had to stop that. It did nothing but show him how pale and empty his projections of them had been in comparison to the real thing, and that he wasn't going to have the same kind of relationship with them now. Knowing that _hurt._ He was being a masochist, picking open a wound and refusing to let it heal._

Arthur turned his back and tidied up whatever it was he was working on as Eames dressed. If he saw anything out of the corner of his eyes, he kept silent. Eames combed his hair slowly and methodically, wondering if he could simply comb old memories out of his mind as well. It wasn't even the dream version of Arthur and Ariadne that bothered him. Memories of the debacle in Mombasa troubled him. He had thought he knew what he was getting into, and he had thought he knew Calliope.

 _You don't know me as well as you think you do. Especially not now,_ Calliope had said. _You've been sleeping these past few years. Don't worry. We'll wake you up. You know more than you think you do._

What the fuck had she meant?

Eames knew that he had come onto the team later than everybody else, but he had quickly gotten close with Max and Calliope. He'd been friendly enough with the others; losing Essman, Lucius and Chester had been painful, but losing Calliope had been the worst of it. They had been really good friends as well as fuck buddies, and the three years they had worked together before the first Mombasa debacle had been wonderful. He, Max and Calliope had been a tight group, and the others were only allowed into their friendship in spurts.

Now he was left wondering if all of that had been a lie.

Oh, he didn't doubt that Max was still his friend. Seven years later, and Max was still concerned about his welfare. He needled Eames about getting off the grid when things got too hot, but he had respected and honored Eames' wishes about his work. Max had gotten more and more insistent that he get out of the game after the Dream Killer nonsense, however. That Arthur was able to escape Max's information nets was probably what troubled him the most. Max was damn good at what he did, yet couldn't touch anything leading to the Dream Killer. He had never tried to hack the Ghost Network, but Eames was sure he and Eden would be on par.

 _Can't know a bloke for ten years without knowing a thing or two about them or their skills, that's for sure,_ Max had told him before this all went down. _Just dump everything and go... I'd rather you left._

Eames turned to Arthur. "You've been looking into Max all morning, haven't you?"

Arthur merely nodded, tucking all of his files away. "You're going to protest that he's a great friend, does all sorts of favors for you, that sort of thing?"

Teeth grit against the derision he couldn't help but hear, Eames growled. "Max has been my friend for _years,_ you wanker. He's always been there when I needed him to be."

Arthur lofted another eyebrow at Eames, and he had to wonder if the derision had actually been there. "If you say so," Arthur said finally. "I never knew him."

"I've known him ten years, Arthur. He's not dirty. If anything, Calliope fucked him over, too. We both mourned her. We thought she was dead."

But Eames also remembered Max telling him to let go. _Calliope is in a better place now, mate. I think we need to stop this. Forget what happened and move on, you know? It doesn't help us any to keep on going like this._

He shivered and Arthur caught it. "You remember something."

It wasn't fair that Arthur seemed to read him like a book, and he couldn't do the same. "I don't know if it matters. He'd said to stop mourning Calliope, to let her go. For the most part, we did. I went on with things, he did okay for a bit. Even got married three years ago." He took in Arthur's bland face. "Max isn't part of this, Arthur. He's my friend. I've trusted him years!"

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to," Eames growled as Ariadne left the bathroom, wrapped head to toe in fluffy towels. He didn't even have the heart to playfully gawk at her, couldn't do much more than seethe at Arthur. He hated him then. Arthur's doubt was like a small seed planted in the fertile soil of betrayal, and Eames hated that he was even thinking of Max in that way.

"I don't know him," Arthur told him blandly. "I don't trust who I don't know."

"You don't trust anyone, do you?"

"I trust Ariadne," he said evenly. Arthur's eyes were dark and empty pools, reminding Eames of his mother in the Geneva house. "I even trust you, to a point," he admitted. Eames merely goggled at him. "You've never lied to me. You've omitted things I knew that weren't relevant, but that's not the same thing. I do think you're capable of lying to yourself, however."

Eames didn't know what to say in response to that. "Max is my friend, Arthur. Leave him alone. I've seen what you do with the interest you take in people."

"I look after my own," Arthur told him simply. "Whatever it takes to keep us safe."

It took Eames a moment to realize he was included, and he sat down heavily, staring at Arthur. It was just as well that Arthur didn't expect him to reply. He didn't know what to say.

***  
***


	15. World Enough And Time

"Tell me more of what a sleeper cell is all about? I never did work in the counterterrorism division," Ariadne asked as she started putting together something for dinner. Arthur was working on the salad, and Eames sat at the dining area in the apartment watching them. They moved so seamlessly, as if they were a lock and key. How could he have even hoped that he could fit in with them?

"Textbook answer?" Eames asked, lips quirking into a smile.

"Sure, why not?" Ariadne replied, pleased with his smile. She had been worried about him, but hadn't wanted to push. The nightmare he had the night before made her feel almost guilty, like maybe she should have pushed him to open up. He didn't know how this worked, after all. He needed their guidance.

"A sleeper cell is a group of agents that lies dormant inside a target population until it receives orders or decides to act. That's why they call it sleeping. Now, there might be a distinct hierarchy of agents within each cell, where they know each other, or there might even be clandestine agents within the cell. Sometimes the cells are linked together, and only one agent in each cell knows each other."

"Clandestine agents?" Ariadne asked, confused. "Isn't that point? No one knows who they are?"

"I've started looking into that," Arthur said before Eames could clarify. "There are covert and clandestine cells. Covert just means you don't know who's funding the operation, but you see the results of the terrorist group. Clandestine means you don't even know what's happening until it's already done, let alone who's funding it. They don't know who else might be in the cell, or they might just have a bit part in the larger picture."

Eames nodded in agreement. "Though if clandestine agents really do their job, you never even know what happened."

"So the cell you were after must've really fucked up, if MI6 knew they were there."

"Or Milton was triggered to start their suspicion," Arthur mused.

"That was the theory Mailand had, and the one I agreed with at the time." Eames sighed. "I was much happier not doing this shite. I actually liked my work at the Yard, even if I can't go back there anymore."

"Why not?" Ariadne asked, some caution in her tone. By Eames' wistful note, she thought this would be a sore point.

"I've lost two teams now," Eames said, shaking his head. "The only common denominator is me, and even the Yard won't overlook that. I can't be trusted if I keep bollocksing up shit like that. Some psycho killer would get the drop on us. No offense," Eames added hastily for Arthur's benefit. He only looked amused, so Eames supposed he hadn't said anything too terrible.

"The other common denominator is Mombasa," Arthur pointed out, moving around the kitchen to help Ariadne. "Get the plates and set the table."

Eames let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and set the table as they finished preparing dinner. "It doesn't mean much of anything. There are other places in the world where terrorists hide. Turn on the telly, and there's bound to be something on about the war in the Middle East and terrorists doing scary shit. Hell, Somali pirates hang about Mombasa, too, but I don't take responsibility for that one."

"You knew you were walking into a clusterfuck," Arthur told him blandly.

"I can't imagine you going forward and not telling everyone what the risk was," Ariadne added, draining the pasta noodles. "Everyone on your team had to know what they were doing."

"So?"

"I'm wondering if you were meant to walk out of there at all," Arthur remarked as he brought the salad bowl to the table. He blithely ignored Eames' angry expression. "For all intents and purposes, the only common denominator in what happened seven years ago and now is the fact that both you and Calliope were involved somehow, right?"

"Right," Eames acknowledged uncharitably.

"Well, then. Calliope can't very well have arranged for everything on her own. So she had to be working with someone. There wasn't any kind of doubt on her seven years ago, was there?"

Eames shook his head. "I didn't even suspect anything about her this time."

"Irrelevant, considering you thought she was dead. You wouldn't have counted her as a player at all." Arthur paused and shifted his position to let Ariadne start dishing out dinner. Eames thought it was bizarre, watching them move around as if this was an ordinary conversation instead of discussing the structure of terrorist cells and how they would communicate. Even more surreal was how comfortable he felt with the discussion, even if he felt extraneous overall. "Milton was your primary target," Arthur continued, not noticing Eames' silent amazement, "but even he only showed strange behavior early last year."

Eames had already forgotten it was a new year, but he nodded at the reminder. "Mailand started making noise while I was overseas in DC."

"You weren't involved in MI6 at the time," Ariadne pointed out. She moved to get the sauce and Eames automatically went to the refrigerator for the grated parmesan cheese. She smiled at him in thanks before sitting down. Arthur and Eames followed suit. "You were working with me on the Dream Killer case."

Arthur merely shrugged and smiled when they both turned their eyes and looked at him. "I don't track terrorists, just reckless lab directors and staff."

"That being said, none of us actually know when it all started. Mailand only noticed last year, but it had to be going on for much longer than that," Ariadne said.

"At least years, but there's not enough time. I've checked timelines," Eames told them, frustration in his voice. "He was too closely watched by MI6 since his knowledge as a chemist was an asset. He couldn't have wandered too far for too long."

"So he wasn't the cell leader," Arthur concluded. "Someone else was, someone else that recruited him and then recruited others. And it could very well have been done by PASIV, or even the old fashioned way. It doesn't matter. He wasn't the head of the cell."

Eames nodded, not sure what to say. "I'd hate to think it was Calliope, but it would make sense."

"No, I don't think it would."

Eames looked at Ariadne. "Why not?"

"Why go through all that trouble to kill off the team to fake her death seven years ago? And why wouldn't she have made a move until now? Something wakes up a team, you said. What would make her wake up _now_ if she's been legally dead for seven years? That doesn't make sense to me."

"Terrorists don't need to make sense to us. Their reasons are their own," Eames said. It was the spiel he had been given all those years ago when he had started working in the counterterrorist arena. "But you killed Calliope, so we can't ask her."

"We took whatever personal data we could," Arthur remarked as he got himself salad. "Pass the dressing?" he murmured, and Eames passed it over. "Hers and Milton's," Arthur continued as if there was no interruption, "so I could compare the two and see if anything correlated. That was assuming that they were working together, after all."

"They had to be. Calliope told me she wasn't going to allow me to take Milton away from her."

"But it still doesn't mean she was the leader of the cell."

Eames made a grumbling noise of discontent and then looked about the table for the cheese he had gotten. Ariadne handed it to him without his having to ask, and he nodded his thanks. "Then who the bloody fuck would she answer to? I can tell you, she was a tough one, and nothing could make her change her mind if she didn't want to change it."

"So it had to be someone she trusted," Ariadne said, taking the cheese back for her own pasta. "Who would that have been?"

Eames snorted. "Seven years ago? I would've said our team. But the lot of us were shot at and butchered, so I hardly think that counts any longer."

"Not all of you," Arthur said quietly, looking at him earnestly.

Throwing down his fork in irritation, Eames glared at Arthur. "Don't you dare accuse Max of anything like that. He's no terrorist."

"Do you know that _for certain?"_ Arthur asked, an intensity to his voice that Eames didn't like. Ariadne was silent, watching them with large eyes.

He had almost felt comfortable over dinner. He had almost thought he was making sense of things again, and it had just been erased in an instant.

"I'm not discussing this."

"Eames," Ariadne said quietly. "Eat while it's still warm, okay? You can argue afterward."

"It's utter bullshit," Eames snarled, picking up his fork. He pointed it at Arthur. "Max is my _friend._ That means something. He's no terrorist."

"You're loyal," Arthur replied noncommittally. "He's very lucky to have a friend like you."

Eames stabbed at his pasta viciously. He knew Arthur was simply mollifying him, but had no intention of diverting his own suspicions. A traitorous voice in the back of Eames' skull told him that Arthur's suspicions had always panned out regarding the sleep labs. Arthur had never gone after someone that wasn't truly guilty.

God, now he was even _thinking_ like him. Like Ariadne.

He started at her touch on his arm. "It's worth looking at things from every angle, if only to see why it's wrong. Didn't you tell me that?"

"Don't use my own words against me," Eames replied, knowing he sounded surly.

Ariadne's smile was gentle, and made him want to smile back at her. "Why not? They make perfect sense. It doesn't have to be Max. Maybe it's someone he knows. Maybe he heard a rumor about something. Maybe he could guess why Calliope did it."

Eames put his fork down and bowed his head. He had already lost so much, he couldn't lose his faith in his few remaining friends. What would he have then?

***

"I'm sorry about yesterday."

Eames looked up in surprise at Arthur's calm words. "Which part?"

Arthur's smile was merely the stretching of lips over teeth, making Eames doubt his sincerity for a moment. Ariadne had suggested the beach, sensing the tension between the two men. She had lain between them the night before, feeling Eames stiff and rigid at her back. Eames sprawled across the sand with a book, intending to people watch, as it was too cold to do much more than watch the waves crash into the sand. Arthur had brought along his laptop and files, making Ariadne sigh in exasperation. She doubtless had thought that the three of them would talk, but Arthur wasn't the type to merely talk to fill up the silence.

"I hadn't factored in a few things," Arthur said calmly, worrying the edge of a manila folder with a fingernail. "I shouldn't have started thinking aloud, even if sometimes that's the way that works best. It's... I didn't have anyone to bounce ideas off of for things like that until last spring."

Until he had taken Ariadne, he meant. Eames thought he was going to be ill.

Eames looked down at his forgotten book, no interest in reading now. He tossed it aside and looked out over the water. "So sorry to fuck up your system," he muttered without inflection.

Arthur's hand fell onto his shoulder, startling him. "No, it's not like that." He pulled his hand back slowly once he was sure he had Eames' attention. "It's... You're loyal. You don't see things as I see them, and I forget about that. I didn't factor in the fact that it's something well known about you."

"What are you talking about?"

"No one would ever doubt your loyalty to friends, right?" Eames nodded slowly, not sure where Arthur was going with it. "Then that could be used against you as well." Arthur looked at Eames with a flat expression, but his eyes were still fever bright. Eames thought he could read that kind of expression. It was the look of an idea taking hold, some new piece of information slotting into place for him. "It can be used to hide something important right in plain sight."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Arthur handed the folder in his hands to Eames. "Clear your mind first. Don't think of this as someone you know. Look at it from an outsider's perspective. Pretend he's me, if you have to," Arthur said, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

"What do you mean?"

"You still don't trust me, not how it counts. So replace the name in there with mine if it'll help you see clearly."

Eames scowled. "I trust you with my life, Arthur. That's more than I can say about most people."

Arthur's smile was crooked on his face, making him seem years younger. "Because of your dream? Or because of real life?"

 _What's the bloody difference?_ he wanted to ask, but that wasn't entirely fair. "I loved the dream," Eames said quietly, a hint of a scowl still on his face. "But I'm starting to get to know the real you now. At least, I think it's the real you."

"Not much left here, though Ariadne's working on me."

Eames flicked his eyes in Ariadne's direction; she had headphones on and was deeply absorbed by the book she was reading on architectural theory. She obviously wasn't listening to their conversation, leaving them to their own devices. "Is that so?"

Chuckling softly, Arthur picked up his laptop from where he had carefully put it down on his folded jacket to protect it from the sand. "She tells me there's something real inside me all the time. I think there's nothing left, but she constantly disagrees with me."

"You love her."

"More than breathing," Arthur agreed.

"Then there's at least that. Empty people don't love anyone."

"I remember you saying something to that effect."

Eames refused to feel any shame. "You mean my comments about the Dream Killer fucking with us when he – you – took Ariadne?"

"Well, to be fair, you didn't know you were talking about me," Arthur allowed. "But the meaning was clear enough. You think I'm a soulless psychopath."

"I wouldn't say soulless anymore," Eames said slowly, thinking of the hollow eyes of Arthur's mother. She was truly soulless. In comparison, Arthur was full of overwhelming joy. "Though perhaps psychopath still applies."

Arthur grinned in amusement. "That only means you don't like my methods. There's a reason for them, you know."

"Yeah. Lack of physical evidence and all that. Ariadne told me about that."

"Do you really think I kill indiscriminately?" Arthur lofted an eyebrow at Eames. "It's for confirmation of what complaints come in over the Network. I don't just take it on blind faith. I do the research myself, and then I go in and confirm everything I was told about. I don't just go around killing for the fun of it. It isn't a craving I have to satisfy. It isn't about that kind of need. It's the need to stop it from happening again. It's making sure justice is served. You could say it's what you do – Ariadne said that a lot, too, you know.

"If we take what happened to you... What crime would you say happened? If Milton was still alive, he could be charged with kidnapping and endangering your welfare. That's about it. He wouldn't be charged for putting you under with the PASIV. Whatever he was looking for, he wouldn't be charged for looking for it or how he got it out of your head. Do you understand me yet? There are no laws for this kind of thing. There's nothing to say what is and isn't legal when it comes to that. It's mind rape, and there's nothing to stop anyone from doing it if they want to. The only thing stopping that on the sleep lab circuit is me."

The file folder felt heavy in Eames' hands. "What's in this file?" he asked, mouth dry. He couldn't argue with Arthur, because he wasn't exaggerating the truth. Other than tightly regulated government run sleep labs, there were no legal avenues for using the PASIV technology but also no internationally recognized crimes for its use. There was no physical evidence, and the scene of the crime was a dream. No evidence meant no crime was committed and the perpetrator would never be charged.

He had heard the conviction in Ariadne's voice when she had told him the same thing in DC, and Arthur's voice was the same. He didn't need to convince Eames of anything. What he had said was the unadulterated truth, and it was the very bedrock of why he had become the Dream Killer and founded the Ghost Network.

"I think you know."

With a heavy heart, Eames opened the folder and began to read about Max.

***

"Hey." Eames looked at Arthur, dread in the pit of his stomach. It made his voice feel thick and not his own, and he wasn't sure if Max would even recognize him.

"Bloody hell, mate! I thought you were dead!"

"Not quite," Eames rasped, rubbing at his jaw. "Though someone did a bang up job trying."

"Fuck." Max grunted his displeasure. "I heard Mombasa was a cock up, but no one had details about it. I know the Fort was closed for nearly a week, and no one could get inside it to look around for me. Believe me, I tried..."

"I got taken prisoner," Eames said, the words leaving his lips with difficulty.

"Where are you now?" Max asked, concern in his voice.

"I don't know," Eames sighed, and resisted the urge to say "I told you so" to Arthur. There. Max was his mate, his best friend, and there was no way in hell that he would be involved in the kind of bullshit that had gone down in Mombasa.

"Tell me you're okay? It's been a month, Eames. I was afraid that you were dead and all of this was for nothing!"

"I... I was messed up for a while, Max. Delirious and shit."

 _"What?!"_ Max nearly shouted, angry. "Is that bastard there, then? He promised me he'd look after you when the process was over."

"What are you talking about?"

Ariadne and Arthur both looked at him in concern at the pain laced in his voice, and Eames had to turn away from them. Arthur's suspicions echoed in the back of his mind; how else could he interpret Max's words? He couldn't bear it.

"That asshole Milton," Max snarled. Eames could almost picture the flare of his nostrils and the annoyed twist to his lips. "He assured me that everything would be safe, and you'd be put far enough down that you'd be comfortable."

"How do you know Milton?" Eames asked, voice wavering as his head dropped and he clutched the untraceable phone tightly. He could hear Ariadne's indrawn hiss of breath and Arthur's sigh, but he only felt sick. "Did you put him up to it?"

"Didn't they explain _anything_ when you came out of it?"

"Nobody was there," Eames said, tongue thick in his mouth. "I woke up alone and out of my mind and I nearly died." Emotion choked him, and he could hear Max swearing up a storm on the other side of the phone.

"This isn't good. You were alone?" Max sounded concerned, which fit what Eames knew of his friend. His earlier protests to Arthur felt false now, however. Max knew more about what was happening than he should, if he was truly innocent.

"Yeah. I was alone," Eames rasped, feeling tears burn in his eyes. He felt as if he was caught in the middle of a tornado, with everything he had ever known ripped out from under him.

"I'm sorry, Eames. Really and truly. It wasn't supposed to be this way," Max was saying. "We're giving you an out that's permanent, mate. MI6 will never get their hands on you now, and you'll be buried so deep the Dream Killer will never find you. You should've been told this. Shit. Was Calliope there at all?"

"Calliope? You know she's not dead?"

"Idiot," Max sighed. "Stupid bitch didn't say anything, did she? She didn't tell you what this was all about?"

"No, she didn't. She said something about me being asleep and needing to be woken up, that I know more than I think I do."

Max muttered something uncomplimentary. "Stupid bitch," he sighed. "She was always trying to make herself sound so much more important. Shit. Forget about that, okay? Calliope was just fucking with you the way she always used to." He sighed. "Listen, I'll take care of her once I find her. She's probably just lying low until this blows over. Last time something happened, she went to ground for nearly three months. She probably took Milton with her, since she was so taken with the man."

"What the sodding hell is this all about?" Eames asked tightly, hardly able to breathe.

"You needed a way out, mate. You didn't think the Dream Killer was out to get you, but I'm not willing to take that chance. Didn't you think that last death you were working on was odd? The one you had me double check the server stats for?"

"That wasn't related!" Eames protested, massaging his temple.

"You can't know that for certain," Max said, rolling over Eames' protests. "So we were going to extract you from the government in a way that would make it final. MI6 won't be able to call you back from the Yard if they think you're dead, right?"

"A sleeper cell, Max?" Eames asked with a strained voice. "The hell?"

"They're underground, steady work, at least six or seven figures for pay. You'd be safe and very, very valuable. The Dream Killer would never get his hands on you. The cell could take you in, but they needed something tangible."

Eames thought he had heard the worst of it before this, but now his knees gave out. "Tangible?"

"Oh, not a big deal, really. Honestly, Eames. You're sounding like a mewling girl. I'm doing you a favor, mate. Now, where are you? Once the baby comes, I'd have to stay home, you know? I have a little time before I'm housebound. I'll come get you."

"I'll have to get back to you," Eames managed to say. "I have to go."

He hung up on Max and let the phone drop from nerveless fingers. Ignoring Ariadne and Arthur's looks of concern, he stumbled to the bathroom and began retching. He tasted bile, but nothing came up but spit. Eames felt Ariadne stroke his back, her fingers cold along the strip of skin above his collar. That didn't surprise him.

What surprised him was Arthur pulling him away and holding on tightly, his cheek pressed against Eames'. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, sincerely.

It was enough to make Eames choke on the tears he refused to shed, and Ariadne wrapped her arms around him, her face pressed against the back of his neck. "You've got us, Eames," she told him, her voice strong and sure. "We'll always be with you."

Cast adrift, Eames held on tightly to the both of them.

***  
***


	16. The Meaning of Silence

"What are you going to do now?" Ariadne asked Eames softly. He couldn't sleep, and hadn't even bothered to get into bed. She had washed up for bed, but found she couldn't sleep either. She couldn't help but remember the sound of Eames retching as his last illusions were shattered and Arthur was proven right.

"I don't know." Eames stared out of the window, but he wasn't seeing the darkened skyline at all.

"Come to bed, Eames." She came to stand beside him, and she was only in a thin nightgown. He could see the outline of her body through the white fabric, the chill along the exposed skin of her legs. Ariadne held out her hand for him to take, and she kept it steady there until he took it. "You need to sleep."

"I can't."

"Then at least rest," she said softly, drawing him toward the bedroom. Arthur was there already, laptop open. In the dim room, it cast a faint blue glow over him. He looked up sheepishly at Ariadne's patient sigh. "Really, Arthur? At a time like this?"

"Research," he protested. At her pointed look, he powered it down and set it aside. "There's a lead besides this..."

"Not another word," Ariadne said, which silenced him. At any other time, Eames might have laughed and found amusement in the chastised way Arthur was looking at Ariadne. As it was, he felt too numb and deflated.

Everything he knew was gone. What was the point?

With a soft sigh, Ariadne started unbuttoning Eames' shirt. Arthur helped her draw it off of his shoulders, and Eames nearly shivered under Arthur's touch. His fingers were slim and long, brushing across the skin. He started kneading Eames' shoulders, the strength in his hands all too evident. Ariadne unbuckled his belt and pulled everything off of his hips as she knelt in front of him. He watched her silently, trying to figure out what her game plan was.

He sucked in a breath as she took him into her mouth and started to lick his length. Eames grasped the bed sheets in his hands. "Ariadne," he gasped, not sure what he wanted to say.

Arthur's hands kept moving in their steady rhythm on his shoulders. "Sh..." he murmured into Eames' ear. "Relax, Eames. You have to trust us."

"I do," he choked out, eyes sliding shut. He couldn't help but tilt his hips into Ariadne's hands, sighing when she took him deeper into her mouth. "God help me, I do." Eames felt Arthur's lips on the side of his throat, and he let out a sobbing noise he hadn't intended to release. "Don't let go," he moaned softly. "Don't, please..."

"We won't," Arthur murmured against the side of Eames' throat.

Eames turned his torso slightly, dipping his head to press his lips to Arthur's temple. He lifted his head and their mouths met messily, lips brushing against cheek and stubble before finding open mouths and tongue. Ariadne gave a last hard suck before rising to her feet and drawing the thin nightgown over her head and tossing it aside. She kicked off her panties and came to curl up around Eames' other side, a hand wrapped around his burgeoning cock. Her other was sliding across his back as she kissed his shoulder gently.

In silence, they drew him down to the bed. Arthur's mouth was still over his, and Ariadne moved to kiss his chest. Eames arched into her touch as her hand tightened over him, and he made a soft noise deep in his throat. He grasped Arthur tight around his hips with one arm, and his other hand found Ariadne's shoulder. His fingers trailed across the skin, light and almost afraid to demand more from her.

"What do you need?" Arthur asked, mouth hovering just over his. "What do you want?"

"Both of you," he gasped, pulling Arthur close. _Don't leave me alone. I can't think, don't let me remember..._

Ariadne shifted her position to kiss the underside of his jaw, her breasts pressed tight against his chest. Arthur shifted to kiss his cheek, letting Ariadne take control of his mouth. She cradled his head in her arms as she kissed him, her tongue sliding between his lips. She was telling him without words to let go of those last vestiges of fear, that she would never betray him so utterly. He jerked in her arms when Arthur's hands slid down his chest and belly, and she rolled to her back, pulling him with her. Their kiss broke, and he let out a soft noise as he feathered kisses all along her face and neck, then moved to take a breast into his mouth. Ariadne let out a gasp of pleasure and threaded her fingers through his hair in encouragement.

He sucked gently at first, then with a greater need, his hands tight on her. Arthur's hands slid around his waist, his own body sprawled across Eames' back. Arthur had his mouth along his spine, his arms around Eames' waist. Eames made a soft, needy sound as Arthur's hand brushed along his cock, and Eames shifted his hips slightly to give Arthur better access. He slid one of his hands down to slide it between Ariadne's thighs, making her sigh pleasantly.

Eames slid his thick fingers inside of her, starting to stroke her rhythmically. His breath was harsh against her breasts when he stopped sucking on them. Arthur had almost the same rhythm on his cock, and the feel of both of them touching him was almost overwhelming. He nearly sobbed when he felt Arthur's erection against the back of his leg.

Ariadne came with a startled cry, nails digging into Eames' shoulder. "I want you inside me," she gasped, pushing his shoulders to make him look at her.

"Not yet," he said, shaking his head. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips. Eames shifted between them to kiss and lick his way down Ariadne's body. Her breath caught when his lips found her center and his tongue delved inside. She tugged on his hair sharply as he worked her with his fingers and tongue, and she cried out in release again when he sucked hard on her swollen clit.

Through all of this, Arthur ran his hands along Eames' back and sides before reaching between his legs to stroke his cock maddeningly slowly again. Arthur's own erection was pressed against the back of a leg, his hips shifting restlessly against Eames' rear. He hissed when Eames shifted back a little, rubbing up against him. Ariadne trailed her fingers along the top of his head, breathing ragged as Eames kissed her thigh. He looked up at her, meaning to ask if this was what she really wanted. He didn't need to ask once he saw her face, the desire etched into her features. He crooked his fingers, making her breath catch again, and he watched as she threw her head back and writhed beneath him.

He turned to look at Arthur when he pulled back. He had been the reticent one before, and Eames wasn't sure if Arthur truly wanted him around. Arthur was going to the nightstand, taking out the lube and condoms. If he was wary of this at all, it didn't show on his face. Eames couldn't even see any hesitancy in his eyes now. Arthur pressed one into his hands and pulled Eames' head back by his hair. He kissed him roughly, all messy tongue and teeth and lips mashed together. There was the taste of Ariadne between them, and Eames thumbed her clit hard. She let out a little shriek of pleasure as she came again, tugging at the sheets beneath them as she writhed.

"Fuck her hard," Arthur growled at him, pupils blown wide. He helped Eames tear open the condom wrapper, as his left hand was still occupied between Ariadne's thighs. Arthur slid it on over his erection, squeezing roughly as he nipped at Eames' shoulder.

"Please," Ariadne panted, spreading her legs wide as Eames shifted to kneel between them.

Eames slid into her slowly, then started as he felt Arthur's lubed fingers pressing against his backside. He let out a soft groan and started falling into a steady rhythm over Ariadne's sprawled form. She slid her hands up his chest, scratching lightly at his skin as she gasped for breath. Eames could feel Arthur's fingers shifting slightly as he thrust, and he nearly jumped when they curled just right and hit his prostate. "Do that again," he pleaded, eyes falling shut.

Arthur rubbed his arm almost soothingly. "I've got something better," he murmured against Eames' neck. He whimpered slightly when Arthur withdrew his fingers, but he was rewarded when Arthur pushed his sheathed cock deep into him. Arthur grasped Eames' hip with one hand and bit lightly on his shoulder. "Better?"

"Much."

Eames see-sawed between them, and pulled Ariadne's legs up high around his waist. Arthur reached down with one hand and pulled at her thigh, tilting her hips up. Eames thrust deeply into her, making her cry out in pleasure and arch her back into the bed. He tried to time his thrusts just right so that he pushed Eames farther into her, fingers punishingly tight on Eames' hip. Eames was aware of the noises he was making, of the gasps and cries that the other two couldn't help but make. As awkward and strange as he had felt around them at intervals, this fit. His dreams hadn't been wrong about that.

He came first, hips jerking erratically. He gulped for air and reached down to stroke Ariadne's clit. She tightened like a vise when she came again, twisting beneath him and thighs trembling around his waist. Arthur was still fucking him steadily, breath hot against his ear. Eames tightened around him, just a little, just enough to make his breath shatter and his rhythm stutter and grow frantic. He pushed Eames down over Ariadne, who cradled him to her chest. Arthur moved hard and fast, panting and nearly growling when he came.

Even after they untangled themselves, they were hesitant to move. Eames couldn't track who was stroking him, or whose arm he was fondling. It didn't matter anyway. "I love you," he whispered, and he meant it for both of them.

Ariadne ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him tenderly. "I know. I love you, too."

Arthur shifted and pressed his lips against Eames' temple. "You're not getting rid of us, Eames. You're ours." There was a possessiveness in his tone that startled Eames. It felt genuine, and for a moment Eames thought that perhaps Arthur loved him more than a little, too. He just couldn't say the words.

Eames grasped Arthur by the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, which was returned with fervor. Ariadne chuckled beside them, and then threw her arms around them both. She gave them both a kiss on the cheek, one after the other, and leaned her forehead in to touch theirs.

"I don't know what happens next," Eames murmured once they were all cleaned up and settled in bed. He was lying on his back between Ariadne and Arthur, and both had their heads propped up on a hand to look at him. Ariadne traced vague circles onto his chest.

"What do you want to happen?" Arthur asked softly, almost tense.

"He's my friend..."

"Ah, Max," Arthur said, a trace of relief in his tone.

Eames furrowed his brow to look at Arthur. "Of course I was talking about him. What did you think I was going to say?"

"That you wanted to be an idiot and leave us," Arthur replied somewhat flippantly.

Eames had already seen the anxiety in his eyes, and flashed him a smile. "You'd miss me if I left. You actually _like_ me."

Arthur let out an indignant huff, which made Ariadne giggle. "Oh, you're such _boys."_

"Shall I prove how much a man I am?" Eames taunted playfully, making her giggle again. Arthur merely rolled his eyes.

"Look, no snap decisions. Making any decisions when you're upset isn't a good idea," Arthur said slowly. He gently rested his palm on Eames' chest. "He threw you for a loop, and you're still upset, no matter how much you might joke about it. Tomorrow would still be too soon."

"You have all the time you'll need, okay?" Ariadne added, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

They wanted to kill him. It came to Eames with a frightening clarity that he was struck dumb for a moment.

"I don't... I can't..." He couldn't get the words out, couldn't beg them to leave Max alone. Dear god, Arthur had been doing research when he came into the bedroom with Ariadne. It was probably for his Dream Killer routine...

"Stop thinking," Arthur instructed firmly. "That's only going to get you into trouble."

"We're going to protect you, Eames," Ariadne told him seriously, her body half draped over his. "Don't worry about anything right now. You have time to decide what to do next."

 _Don't kill him,_ Eames wanted to say. He wanted to make them promise to leave Max alone. Their desire to kill his best friend almost seemed to make a twisted kind of sense from their point of view, and it almost seemed to be a declaration of love.

It troubled him that he couldn't ask them to leave Max alone. His doubts followed him into sleep.

***

"You're brooding."

Eames looked up and saw Arthur standing in the doorway, his closed laptop at his side. "You think? You're researching him, aren't you? Planning to cut him up as the Dream Killer?"

Arthur sighed and sat down next to him on the couch. He hadn't thought the night before would really quell Eames' fears. "What do you think happened, then?"

"What?" That threw him. He had thought Arthur simply wrote off Max as evil.

"You've known him for ten years, right?" Eames nodded slowly, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Then what's a possible explanation? You're the one that talked to him, after all. Not me. You never said what he told you on the phone. All we heard was your end of the conversation, and you fell apart after it. That doesn't look good from my perspective." His voice was even, almost soothing, and for a moment Eames hated him for sounding so calm. Arthur reached out and grasped his shoulder. "I want to be wrong, Eames. Really. But I'm not, am I? There isn't any other explanation..."

"There has to be," Eames said, shaking his head. "There has to be," he repeated slowly. "I can't think right now, but there has to be. He wouldn't just... He's my friend, Arthur. I can't... You can't just cut him up. You can't."

"That's not what I do," Arthur said quietly. "I do my homework first. I never take someone innocent. You know that."

The only sounds in the apartment for a while were Ariadne puttering around in the kitchen to prepare lunch. Eames was barely even breathing, and neither man moved.

"I don't want this to be true," Eames finally admitted.

Arthur nodded, no sense of gloating in his eyes. "Look at what I found," he said quietly, handing over his laptop. Eames made no move to take it. "Look at it."

"I already saw your file on him."

"Look at who he married," Arthur said in a quiet voice.

Dreading what he would find, Eames opened the laptop and looked at the scanned documents that Arthur had found. Max's quiet little wife was Milton's cousin.

"This doesn't look good, does it?" he asked, no inflection in his tone.

"He thought he was protecting me from you," Eames told Arthur, looking up at him. He laughed mirthlessly. "I never told anyone about the Dream Killer business, that Ariadne's still alive. I never said a word. I kept my promise about that, and Max was convinced you were going to kill me next. He wanted to save me from you."

"By forcing you to betray your country and work with a sleeper cell?" Arthur asked, eyebrow raised. "Not with your sense of loyalty."

"I won't let you just kill him, Arthur. I can't."

Eames thought that Arthur would simply say "How do you propose to do that?" or "I'm sorry you feel that way," which really meant nothing at all. But he simply sat there, his hand still on Eames' shoulder, the laptop between them. He looked at Eames evenly, his thumb starting to make little soothing strokes that Eames could feel through his shirt. Eames almost wished that Arthur would act patronizing instead of understanding. Then he could lash out, hit him or something.

Arthur knew how to work an awkward silence. He simply sat there, staring at Eames without saying a word. Eames was the one uncomfortable with silence now. He knew this trick, knew that people would say anything simply to fill the gaps, just to ease that building sense of anxiety.

Ariadne arrived with sandwiches, however, which broke the tension between them. She stared at them for a moment and sighed. "What happened?"

Eames jumped in before Arthur could reply. "You can't just kill him. He's not the same as those you go after. Stop researching him! He doesn't fit your bloody profile!"

Sighing, Ariadne sat down beside Eames. Arthur was shaking his head slowly. "Eames," he began in a somewhat placating tone.

"There's another reason why he said those things. He didn't fucking sell me out! I know you're thinking that. He was trying to protect me from _you._ He thinks you're going to kill me." Eames' voice was bitter. "I still haven't figured out why you haven't."

"You're not the one that hurts them," Arthur said quietly, and Eames almost felt ashamed. "You're not the one that abuses your authority. You're not the one that leaves them broken and lost when you're done with them."

"He didn't... Max didn't..."

Ariadne took Eames' hand in hers. "Even if you ignore the fact that he was leading the cell..."

"Oh, god, don't even," Eames began, shrinking away from her. "Don't say that! Don't even _think_ it!"

Arthur grasped Eames' face in his hands, an abrupt and sudden move that startled him. Eames could feel the quiet strength in those hands, though he had always known it. Arthur never looked the type to be able to pin a man into submission, but the tension and strength was still there. "Stop. That's your emotion talking. That's the fear of what you think we're going to do. It doesn't work that way. It has _never_ worked that way. I don't just swoop in indiscriminately."

Eames' breath hitched. "He's my friend," he whispered, voice breaking. "Whatever else he's done, he's still my friend."

"And you want to protect him from us, same as he wanted to protect you," Ariadne said, wrapping her arms around his torso. She pressed her head against his shoulder. She could feel his ragged breathing and could almost hear the erratic pace of his heart. "We _know."_

"I research. I weigh it. There's always lead time while I figure out how best to approach it."

Eames knew he only killed the guilty ones. He knew that. He had been able to see it even before he had left for DC a year ago. He still couldn't wrap his mind around Max's guilt, still couldn't make himself view it dispassionately. "I can't," he whispered. "Don't ask me to do this."

"We're only asking you to heal," Arthur told him honestly. "We haven't decided anything yet..."

"Liar."

"No," he said firmly. "I haven't finished all my checking yet." Eames made a disbelieving sound. "No, really. I haven't. He's been good at covering his tracks. So I've been digging into his background, and there's a possible hit on the Network that I'm looking into."

Ariadne was making soothing sounds, and Eames didn't even realize he was making a wailing sound deep in his throat. He thought he was going to be ill.

Arthur let out a small sigh and touched his forehead to Eames'. It was something that Ariadne did all the time, and it calmed him down a lot when he was rushing around at full tilt. It had also seemed to work on Eames. Maybe it was grounding, Arthur wasn't sure. Eames was still making desperate sounds, so Arthur tilted his head and simply kissed his forehead. "We're not asking anything of you, Eames. Nothing's going to happen, and I would tell you if it would. We're not going behind your back. You have to believe that."

"I can't be here," Eames gasped, eyes shut tight. He heard them stop breathing, and he quickly corrected himself. "If you... If you decided that he... I can't be here when you kill him." He made a soft sound of despair. "I can't believe I'm saying this. Why aren't I fighting you on this?"

"Because he hurt you," Ariadne said softly.

"You know the research is sound," Arthur said at the same time.

"I should fight you. I should hit you or something. I should've brought you in." He pulled back and looked at Arthur with a pained expression. "I'm just as complicit as you now."

"Accessory after the fact, actually," Arthur corrected. Ariadne sighed and frowned at him. "What? It's less jail time."

"You're so... I don't even have words for it," Eames said, staring at Arthur. It wasn't a complete obliviousness, because Arthur had been disconcerted by his anguish. It came to him after a moment, seeing the rigid lines of his back and shoulders, the uncomfortable cast to his jaw. Eames would have seen it sooner if he weren't already falling apart, and he let out a sigh. "I know you mean well, Arthur. I can't handle this right now."

He nodded briskly, almost with a sense of relief. He didn't handle strong emotions well. "Like I said. We're not asking anything of you."

Only to turn a blind eye to it. Only to sit back and let it all unfold without intervening.

No, that wasn't fair, either. He could intervene if he wanted to. They wouldn't stop him, he knew. They wouldn't hurt him if that's what he wanted to do, and they wouldn't ask him to do anything to Max personally unless he wanted to.

The problem was, Eames didn't know what he wanted to do.

He caught Arthur's hand in his when the other man backed off and was about to stand. "Thank you. Sort of. Well, you know what I mean."

Arthur seemed sincerely puzzled, as if he didn't know what Eames meant. "Oh. All right."

Eames wondered when he learned how to read Arthur so easily, when he could see past the layers of intellectualization to the vulnerable, hurt child beneath it. No wonder he had been so drawn to Ariadne. No wonder he had wanted to save her from the inevitable burnout of the SCU.

Ariadne was rubbing his back gently. "Come on. You need to eat something, Eames. We all do," she said with a pointed look at Arthur, who was retrieving the laptop. "Put that down and eat, dammit. It can wait an hour."

Eames nearly laughed at the mulish expression on Arthur's face, but he put down the laptop and reached for the sandwich Ariadne had made. "God, how did you survive so long without her?" The smile slipped when he saw Arthur's pained expression.

"I don't know. I hope to God I never have to do it again."

***

"I'm going for a walk."

"Take a key," Arthur called out, not even looking up from his laptop.

Ariadne was sketching something that looked like a building or a maze or something, and she looked up at Eames' words. "Want me to come with?" she asked.

Eames paused as he took one of the sets of keys to the apartment from its hook by the door. If he said no, she would stay and continue sketching, and they would have a lazy afternoon alone together before starting to make dinner. The three of them would eat, dance around the subject of Max, then fall into bed together. There might or might not be sex. There would most likely be a lot of cuddling and _We're not leaving you_ comments before he fell asleep. If he said yes, she would pack up her sketchbook, come with him around the city and make small talk. They might or might not talk about Max. They might or might not talk about Arthur. Or his own conflicted feelings. They would return, make dinner, dance around the subject of Max and then fall into bed together.

It was almost comforting to realize that there was a pattern in things, and that he could alter some of the details along the way.

"Yeah. Might be nice, that. Just a walk, mind you. All that morning running you do is just vile."

Ariadne laughed as she closed up her book. She dropped a kiss onto Arthur's cheek, and it was almost adorable to see how he tilted his face toward her without taking his eyes off of the screen. "Have a snack at three, Arthur. Promise me."

He looked up then and gave her a vague smile. "I won't be hungry, you know."

"I don't care. Take five minutes between archives. Promise me."

"I promise," Arthur told her, then pulled her close for a kiss on the mouth. "Really, I promise."

Eames waited until they were out on the street. "You really do bully him sometimes, don't you?"

Ariadne snorted. "God. You have no idea how he gets when he's onto something. I didn't see that right away either, but the first one after we left DC..." She sighed and looked at Eames with a concerned expression. "Do you really want to hear this?"

"I probably should," Eames replied softly.

She nodded and shrugged as they walked. "He just disappeared into his computer. He looked into archives all over the world, broke into government networks, trolled the Ghost Network, came up with lists of people to contact. It was just... Even a whisper of something set it off. It was exhausting even to watch him do that. He didn't eat, barely slept, and was just consumed by the work. I had to steal the battery out of his laptop to get him to stop at one point."

"No standing naked in front of him?" Eames teased.

"He, uh, didn't notice," Ariadne admitted sheepishly. "I tried that first."

Eames snickered, but then sobered after a moment. "He's utterly besotted with you."

"Yes, he is." She twined her fingers through his. "And you? What's going on there?"

He sighed. He knew it was one of the possibilities for discussion when he agreed to leave the apartment with her. Didn't make it any easier for him to hear, however. "I love you, Ariadne," he told her quietly. "Like the air I breathe."

"Because of the dream version of me? Or because of the real me?"

Her voice was quiet and accepting, and Eames felt so very small as he heard it. "It started in the dream," he began slowly, "but I could never dream you properly. What I had was only parts of you, pieces I put together out of observations and memories. You're the real thing."

"And?" she prompted when he fell silent.

"I love you," he said simply, stopping in place. She paused with him, looking at his expression in concern. "It's part of me. I don't know how I didn't see it before, while we were working together. Best that I didn't, but now I can't unsee it. I love you and I love Arthur, even when I want to knock his teeth in."

Ariadne couldn't help but smile at the aggrieved tone of his voice. "Well, he doesn't make it easy sometimes. He's not used to it." She paused slightly. "It's not my story to tell..."

"I know pieces," Eames told her. "He's alluded to some, I figured out some. We didn't talk. He's not one for talking about things like that."

"No. It wasn't encouraged, let's just put it like that."

Eames thought of his mother, and agreed with her. "I know it's not as real for you or him..."

"No," she corrected. "It's real, Eames. It's just not the same. I don't want anything happening to you. I don't want anyone hurting you. I don't want you upset. I want you to be the one teasing me all the time and making those awful jokes and the innuendo... I want you to be _you,_ and I don't care how it happens. It's..." She stopped, searching for the right words to explain it. "You say we're like air to you. Well, it's like that for me with Arthur. But you... I'm comfortable, I guess? I need you to be okay because then I'm okay. Something's missing if you're not. I can't imagine what it would be like without you in my life, and I don't want to. It's... It not the same as how you feel, but it's not any less real. It's not any less important."

He grabbed her and kissed her then, holding her tightly. Ariadne threw her arms around him and ignored the catcalls from passersby.

Ariadne smiled as he broke the kiss then tucked her hair behind her ear. "So we're okay, then?"

"More than okay, darling," Eames murmured. The endearment felt like more than a tease now, and the sparkle in her eyes seemed to mean that she understood that, too. "Come on, then. I really did want to take a walk. I was feeling caged up."

She linked her arm through his. "How about we walk to the water? The view is gorgeous."

They walked toward the edge of the city, where the buildings and streets ended and the water began. They continued in silence for a while, taking in the afternoon view. It was always mild in the Mediterranean, and today was an especially warm day for the end of January. "I don't know where to start over," Eames admitted abruptly.

"You can't go back to working for Scotland Yard," Ariadne said. Eames nodded. "Why not?"

He looked at her with a stunned expression. "Like this? I'm no good to anybody. And I've caused the deaths of too many people on two teams now..."

"That's MI6," Ariadne interrupted. "And not your fault, but that's a different story."

Eames shook his head. No wonder Arthur found her so vital. "I'm not the same person I was a month and a half ago when I left."

"Ah."

He lofted an eyebrow at her. "Ah?" he repeated.

"Ah." She smiled when his brows knit. "You're not the same, sure. Nobody's exactly the same from day to day. This changed you enough that what you wanted before isn't what you want now." Eames nodded. "So what do you want?"

"I don't know. That's why I don't know what to do next."

"Oh, come on now. You've got to have some clue. You know what's important to you now."

Eames sighed and looked out over the water. "You. Arthur. Keeping you two out of the messes that trail in my wake. I'd worry about Yusuf more if he wasn't already protected." He paused and considered his next words carefully. "I don't know what to do about Max. We'd been mates for years. It's... I don't want to believe this about him. I can't reconcile this with what I know of him. I can't even figure it out, because the two of you might go after him."

"That's not how we do it. You know that. What do you _want?"_

"I don't know! If I say the wrong thing you'll kill him."

She pulled him to face her. "Eames. I promise you, that's not how it works. I'd never lie to you about that." She saw his troubled gaze. "You want him to hurt, don't you? That's why you can't talk to us about it. You _do_ want it."

"It's horrible of me," Eames whispered, unable to meet her eyes. "I can't do it, but sometimes I want it so much."

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. "It's not horrible, Eames. It's human. You've been so very hurt, so of course you feel this way." She could hear his erratic heartbeat under her ear and sighed. "You need to grieve this, Eames. We meant it when we said no pressure. Now, a year from now, ten years from now, never, it doesn't matter. I won't allow anything to happen to him unless you say so."

"Arthur won't be happy about it," Eames murmured, twining a hand into her hair, his voice thick with pain and unshed tears.

"He knows. He knew what he was offering. He's not stupid. For you, he'd let it go."

Eames took in a choked breath. A man's life hung in his hands, and he didn't know what to do with it.

***  
***


	17. Legacy Of Pain

Eames was startled when the shower curtain was drawn back slightly, just enough to reveal Ariadne's impish face and nothing else. "You're going to drown in all this steam, if you don't scrub off all your skin first," Ariadne commented. He frowned at her, trying to make his most forbidding face at her. It didn't work. That kind of thing had never worked with her. "Need me to wash your back?"

"Ariadne..."

She ducked into the shower with him, and she was stark naked. "Arthur's taking a nap, before you ask. He didn't sleep at all last night, I think."

"No, he didn't," Eames sighed, shaking his head and making room for her in the shower stall. No point in pushing her out; she would just find another way to talk to him about this anyway. "I woke up a few times and he was up, either scribbling notes or on the computer."

"I swear, I'm going to steal the battery and cord again. He's looking into three different things right now..." She sighed and rubbed at Eames' arm gently. "You've been in here for over a half hour. You sure you're okay?"

He thought about lying to her, but thought better of it. "I don't know."

"Fair enough," she murmured. She leaned forward and just held him, face turned away from the shower spray. "That's freaking hot, you know."

Eames laughed. "I like hot showers."

"We'll scald," she chided.

"And you're such a delicate flower?" he scoffed.

Ariadne laughed and adjusted the hot water. "More than you, at any rate."

"Well, I'm almost done, anyway," Eames said, reaching over to turn off the water. He stopped when his arms slid across Ariadne's breasts as she turned to give him room. He sucked in a breath and then sighed heavily. "But you didn't come in just to make fun of me, did you?"

"No, I didn't," she admitted. She slid her hands across his chest, then dipped one hand lower to grasp his burgeoning erection. "Should I stop?" she asked, seeing the uncertainty on his face. She ran the ball of her thumb across the head of his cock, her eyes never leaving his face.

Eames crowded her in an almost menacing manner, arms against the tile walls of the shower. "Is this because you can't have Arthur right now?" She shook her head. "Then why?"

"Because I want to," she said softly, a vulnerable expression on her face. "Because I need to."

He seized her mouth in a rough kiss, one of his hands moving to grasp a breast in his hand. "Then don't stop," he growled against her mouth.

She responded enthusiastically, arching into his touch and stroking him rhythmically. Ariadne slid her tongue between his lips as he rolled his fingers across her nipple. She whimpered softly against his mouth as he moved his hand down the side of her body. Eames teased her folds with a light touch before pushing a finger inside of her. She gasped, mouth falling open, and his tongue invaded her mouth with a desperation that would have taken her breath away if she had it. He slipped another finger inside of her, hand moving at a rapid pace. Ariadne clung to his shoulders, knees nearly buckling. He could feel her inner walls grow slick and wet, and he brushed his thumb across her clit, making her cry out in pleasure.

Eames worked her up to a fever pitch, his mouth slanted over hers to swallow her cries. She came, clenching hard around his fingers and her nails digging into his shoulder painfully. She couldn't quite stand on her own at that point, her knees feeling weak and wobbly. Leaning against the tiles, she looked up at Eames. Aching with need, she tugged his erect cock. "I need you inside me," she gasped.

"I don't have anything," he murmured, shaking his head.

"Pull out, then," she whimpered. "I trust you. Please, I need to feel you..."

Eames turned her around slightly so that she was facing the tile wall, bracing herself against it. Her breath caught as his hands roamed across her back and sides, as he nudged her legs farther apart. She felt him prodding at her entrance, and she went up on tip toes to accommodate him better. A sigh of contentment escaped her as he filled her, and she found herself falling forward a bit. Eames grasped her hips to steady her, and groaned softly as he moved his hips against hers. She was exquisite around him, and he closed his eyes and simply reveled in the feel of her as he slid in and out, slowly, ever so slowly, hearing her gasps and moans.

She tightened when she approached another orgasm, and Eames growled a filthy curse as he pulled out abruptly. He shuddered as he came spilling across her back. Ariadne whimpered slightly as she turned her head to look at him, and Eames pushed his fingers deep enough into her to make her cry out and push back on her toes to take him in deeper. Panting, he fucked her hard with his fingers until she shook and nearly slipped from his grasp as she came.

Kneeling behind her in the stall, Eames wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face against the side of her head. "Okay, darling?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak yet. She reached up to run her hand along his arm in a soothing gesture. "Wow," she said when she found her breath.

Eames chuckled. "Glad I could please."

They rinsed off and toweled themselves down. Arthur was still asleep in the bed, a frown creasing his features. Ariadne sat perched on the edge in nothing but a pair of panties. She looked up at Eames as she carded her fingers through his hair. "You wanna be the big spoon or the little spoon?" At his incredulous stare, she shrugged. "He sleeps better with me. Maybe with the both of us..."

"You stay where you are," Eames murmured as he tugged on a pair of boxers. She slipped into bed beside Arthur, tugging his arms around her waist and fitting her back against his chest. Eames crawled in behind Arthur and didn't even hesitate to put an arm around his waist. His fingers brushed against Ariadne's hip, and he leaned forward so that his forehead touched the back of Arthur's head. "We're right here with you, Arthur," he said softly. "You're not dreaming alone anymore."

It might have been his imagination, but Arthur seemed to breathe a sigh of relief in his sleep.

Between the poor sleep the night before, sex, warm shower and cuddling beneath the blankets on the soft bed, Eames was asleep within minutes.

He dreamed.

He didn't know where he was. He could hear voices all around him, phrases in different languages and fragments of words he thought he could understand. People on the street passed him by without a second glance, almost as if he wasn't even there. No one seemed to see him, no one seemed to notice him.

Ariadne was standing on a pier, barefoot and dressed in a bright red summer dress with yellow flowers on it, her hair long and loose as the wind caught it. She clambered up onto the pier's railing, leaning over it to look into the water. Her balance was precarious, but she maintained it easily. Her lithe form resembled a dancer's, and Eames was struck at the grace inherent in her still pose.

Arthur was sitting a few feet away, dressed in a loose T shirt and jeans. His hair was tousled by the wind and his feet were bare. He looked so young and skinny there, like a lost college student trying to figure out what class to pick next. He was watching Ariadne, and Eames could see a flicker of fear on his face. He didn't dare come close to her, afraid he would make her lose her balance. He turned and saw Eames through the crowd, not even trying to hide his panic.

Eames came closer to the pier, winding his way through the crowds. It almost felt as if the pier was a constant distance away, and no matter how many faceless passersby there were, he couldn't get any closer to them. When he finally did, he nearly tripped over Arthur's legs. He caught himself on the pier railing and took in Arthur's sprawled form. "What's gotten into you?" he asked, voice sharper than he intended it to be. "You're supposed to be good at this. You always catch people when they fall. That's your job."

He pointed to the spot that Ariadne had been watching so intently as Eames approached. "I can't do anything about this yet. It's not my place."

An arrogant statement died on his lips when he saw his own face on the figure in the water. The other Eames was treading water, mostly unsuccessfully, and he was starting to flail. "Good God, Arthur. You can't let him drown."

Arthur rolled to his feet and stood in front of Eames. "You have to tell me what you want. You have to decide what's going on."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Physically turning him toward the water, Arthur pointed at the figure. "You have to choose, you know. You can't have it all. New lives always involve sacrifice. You know this."

Eames was staring at Max flailing in the water now.

He looked up at Arthur, then at Ariadne. He understood that she was keeping vigil, that she would accept whatever decision Eames made. If he wanted her to jump into the water, she would. If he wanted her to remain safe where she was, she would do that, too.

He wouldn't risk her. He absolutely wasn't willing to do that.

"Make your choice," Arthur whispered against his ear, a hand at Eames' back.

Eames dove into the water just as Max's head slipped beneath the surface. It was murky and dark, a midnight sea that was difficult to navigate. He pulled Max above water by the back of his shirt, then slowly dragged him to land. Max spit up water, curling onto his side, and Eames thumped him on the chest roughly. "What the hell were you thinking?" he raged. It poured out of him faster than the vile, black waters running out of Max's mouth. "How could you do this to me? I thought you were my friend! You let them tear apart my mind for _nothing,_ and you never asked me what I wanted. You never trusted me to care for myself!"

He could feel Ariadne and Arthur standing behind him, but Eames was focused on Max's drawn expression. His hands closed around Max's throat. "You have to tell me why you did this. You have to tell me _why."_

"I can't lose you," Max gurgled, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He dissolved into liquid form, dark water spilling out from between Eames' hands and draining into the sand beneath him. Arthur was kneeling beside him, starting to trace lines into the sand that seemed to make sense. Formulae of some kind, something that held meaning to his dreaming mind. Ariadne started to sing a funeral dirge, something soft and slow and in the mysterious fractured language of the passersby around him. They all seemed to pause in their comings and goings, picking up the refrain of her song.

 _I have to know why you did this,_ Eames thought as he woke, arms tight around Arthur's thin frame. He could hear Arthur's breathing, soft and slow and not quite awake yet. Ariadne's breathing was difficult to hear, indicating that she was still asleep.

"Arthur?" Eames murmured softly into his hair.

"Mrm?"

"Sleep well?" Arthur nodded sleepily and tightened his hold around Ariadne and Eames' arm. "I did, too. What did you dream about?"

Arthur seemed to wake up a bit more, because he hesitated. "Scars," he said finally. "I have this dream where I'm covered in scars. It's like a map across my skin where everything happened, and it always grows thicker." His voice was hushed, quiet. "She has them, too, sometimes. My scars on her skin, the legacy of my abuse."

"But that wasn't what you dreamed this time, was it?" Eames guessed. His voice was too distant for that, too removed from the horror it would have been to see Ariadne like that. Arthur shook his head and shifted slightly so that he could press his face deeper into the pillow. "Was it you again, then? Did you see yourself like that?" Arthur shook his head again. "Then who?"

"You," Arthur said thickly, voice muffled in the pillow.

Eames shifted his position to press his lips to Arthur's shoulder. "It wasn't the same, what Max had them do to me."

"The one that took us," Arthur began slowly, eyes clenched tight and mouth muffled by the pillow, "he did things. To each of us, both of us at once, made us do it to each other. And then he left me in the dark." Shivering slightly when Eames pressed his open mouth to the side of his neck, Arthur turned his head away from the pillow. "In this dream, he took you. He carved the scars into your skin and then left you in the dark for Max to find. And then Max just took a tiny little chisel, like a jeweler's tool, and split you right down the middle."

Eyes closed, Eames merely breathed into Arthur's skin. To admit this much must have cost Arthur a lot. He had no idea how much. "I dreamed about Max, too. We were at a pier, the three of us. You were waiting for me, and Ariadne was keeping watch. First it was me drowning, but then it was Max. I just... I saved him, but not because I wanted him alive. I wanted to know why he did it. I needed to hear it from him."

Arthur managed to twist in place enough to run his cold fingers against the crease of Eames' elbow. "That's your decision, isn't it?"

Eames took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no recrimination in Arthur's voice, no joy, no sarcasm. It was a quiet acceptance, no judgment in his tone. Ariadne had been right, of course. If Eames had demanded that Arthur leave Max alone, he would put away the folders, stopped the research and never speak of it again.

"Yeah. I need to know for certain. I need to have him tell me what happened. It won't be finished for me until he does."

"Then we'll make it happen," Arthur said, turning a little further in the bed. It made Ariadne stir in her sleep, curling into Arthur's side.

Eames looked down at the both of them, feeling the affection there. This was real. This was where he belonged now.

***

Ariadne chewed on a fingernail as she contemplated her sketch. "I still don't like this."

Arthur took the sketch book from her and looked it over. "You keep improving on this, but it's fine. The original was fine. It works. You don't need to keep doing this kind of exercise..." He smiled at her annoyed look. "I know you want it perfect..."

She tossed her pencil at his head. "Eames, you look at it. Tell me if it looks too simple."

Eames put down the book he was reading and looked at the sketch. "What am I looking at?"

"That's a maze," Ariadne explained. "The center is where we... Well, where the questioning would be. The maze is there to keep the projections out while we work."

His breath nearly stopped for a moment. "Oh." He looked up at her expectant expression and knew that Arthur was watching him closely. Frowning, Eames looked down at the sketch again, looking at it more closely. He tried tracing a few paths through it with his fingers, but he kept banging into walls and blind alleys. "Bugger me. I can't find my way in."

"So it works?"

"For that purpose, yeah," Eames told her, handing the sketch book back.

"I don't know... It looks too simple. I don't like it. There's an obvious route..."

"Darling, it's only obvious to _you,"_ Eames replied, shaking his head. "To the rest of us that don't think in mazes, it's impossible to solve." She looked pleased with herself, and shot Arthur a triumphant look that screamed _I told you so._ "I didn't know..." He paused and started again. "How do you do it?"

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" Arthur asked quietly as Ariadne merely looked at him in concern. "It's not something you'd have to do. This is for someone else..."

"No," Eames said quietly, shaking his head. "You get what you get because there's time in the dreams. They don't have the same resistance. And Max is trained. He's aware of techniques to resist torture, his mind is militarized and you'd need something complicated to keep yourself safe from him if you do it that way."

"Are you sure?" Ariadne asked quietly, brows knit. "We don't have to do this."

"I need to know for sure," Eames told her quietly. He felt as if he was cast adrift, and the two of them were his only anchors in the world. "I have to know why he felt this was the only way to go, why he had to _break me_ to do it..." He stopped when he saw his hands shaking on the table. "He treated me like a fucking _mark._ What kind of friend does that?"

Ariadne reached across the table and grasped his hand tightly. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. He had always known where he stood with her.

"There's a system I have," Arthur said quietly, looking down at the table. "I suppose you can say that they have to fit a profile, and I have my rituals." He looked up at Eames mirthlessly. "I am a serial killer, after all. And I'm going to do it again. I can't stop, Eames. I'm telling you that now. It's part of me now."

"It's a scar he left you," Eames told him. Arthur nodded stiffly. "And one that Ariadne has now." Arthur nodded again and Ariadne merely squeezed his hand. "This is my last chance to back out before it scars me, too, isn't it?"

"Something like that," Arthur said, voice rough with emotion. "There's no going back. You won't unhear it, can't stop thinking about it. Knowing about it can change you. I wouldn't have to go in to change anything, wouldn't have to make you listen to me. Once it's there, it's just there. It's part of you, then. You can't get rid of it."

"I understand."

And he did. It was like knowing Calliope was still alive had undermined his memories of her. It was like knowing Max had ordered Milton to use that protocol to rape his mind shifted his entire view of ten years of friendship. A little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and pain like that left an indelible legacy on the mind.

Eames looked at both of them evenly. "Tell me."

***

"Can't sleep?"

Eames jerked and hit his head on the cabinet door at the sound of Arthur's soft voice. "Sodding hell, Arthur. Ow, that hurts," he grumbled, rubbing at his head. "No, can't sleep."

"Sorry."

He turned around and looked at Arthur's contrite expression. He really was, the twisted serial killing fucker. Eames sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter, an empty glass from the cabinet in hand. It wasn't a fair description, he knew that. He was just reacting to what Arthur and Ariadne had told him, how Arthur had described his technique. He didn't ask for that to be his future when he was young. Arthur had seemed genuinely disturbed at times, matter of fact at others. This was his scar tissue; it wasn't made flesh like in his dreams, but it was still there just the same. Ariadne's was her gift of reality testing and empathy. Every gift came with a price, and Eames was only just starting to see what it cost them.

He was like them now. His scar was doubt and self loathing. It wasn't any better than theirs.

"How did you figure it out? That killing them would work?"

"I didn't. It doesn't. Not like that. The first one... I was trying to go to a sleep lab to get it fixed, to get the nightmares out of my head. I wanted a good night's sleep for a change. It didn't seem like too much to ask, you know?" Eames nodded, knowing the feeling exactly. "I was the one he latched onto in the lab. When I realized it, I attacked him in the dream. If anything, it only made him want me more."

Eames watched Arthur rummage in the fridge for something to drink. He poured them both iced tea with steady hands. "Then what?"

"I knew I wasn't the first," Arthur said quietly. He turned and put the tea away, but paused before turning back to face Eames. "I knew I had to be the last, though. I couldn't make anyone else go through that again. I couldn't let it happen when I could stop it. That's how it started," Arthur said quietly, turning around to face Eames. "Because no one would ever take my word over his, and I knew I couldn't leave it alone."

"Where does this leave us now?"

"Wherever you want it, same as before."

He had known he wasn't going back to Scotland Yard. He had known his life in England was over, and he was off the market as far as MI6 was concerned. The sleeper cell had killed him, and it was better if that was taken as truth.

He couldn't lose Ariadne and Arthur. Without them, there was nothing left for him.

Eames sipped the tea and put down the glass, watching Arthur steadily. Arthur was waiting to see what he would do or say, an accepting expression on his face. Eames reached out for Arthur and pulled him in close, kissing him soundly. Arthur didn't resist, and was pliant in his arms. "Do you want this?" he asked quietly, his hand sliding down Arthur's side. "Can you tolerate my touching you like this?" he asked, slipping his hand underneath the waistband of his sleep pants and boxers. He cupped Arthur's ass in his hand and pulled their hips flush together. "This is what I want, Arthur. Can you deal with that?" Arthur was silent, watching his expression as he kneaded his flesh. "You've fucked me well and good. Did you like it? Would you let me touch you like this? Would you let me fuck you?"

Arthur had bitten his lip at the final questions. "Yes," he whispered softly, sounding almost frightened by the admission.

Moving slowly, Eames leaned in to kiss him again. Arthur could move aside easily if he wanted to, and Eames could live with that. If Arthur couldn't stand to have Eames fucking him, there were ways around that. They could still be together otherwise; there was more to a relationship than sex, however wonderful or amazing it could be.

He simply held Arthur close as he kissed him, tongue sliding into his mouth. Arthur's hands were cold against his chest, palms pressed flat against his skin. He didn't push Eames away and didn't draw him in. His hands simply rested there, feeling his heart beat wildly beneath his skin.

Eames closed his hand around Arthur's cock, beginning to stroke it. "And this?" he murmured against Arthur's mouth. "You'd let me do this? You'd let me get you off this way? Or fall to my knees and suck you off?"

Arthur made a soft noise deep in his throat as his hands slid around Eames' torso to grasp his shoulders. There was no tremor or hesitation in his touch. "Yeah," he said, voice rough with arousal. "I would. I'd even suck you off."

Moving his hand faster, Eames kissed Arthur again. Arthur shifted his hips so Eames had an easier grip on him, and opened his mouth. Their tongues tangled together, and Arthur let one hand drop down to palm Eames' growing erection through his boxers. Their hands moved back and forth, stroking each other steadily. It was harder and harder to breathe and kiss at the same time, and Eames had to pull away. Arthur leaned his head forward, tucking his face against the underside of Eames' jaw. The hand remaining at Eames' shoulder tightened almost painfully as his breath caught. "I'm gonna come," he whispered. His nails dug in hard, nearly breaking the skin as he let out a soft grunt.

"Then come," Eames replied, voice soft. Arthur's strokes against him were erratic, and his hips jerked against Eames' hand. He came with a spurt over Eames' fist, sagging slightly against him as his breath came in soft pants.

He kept rubbing Eames, paying attention to his soft gasps for breath and only stopping when he finally came as well.

They were still leaning against each other at the counter as Ariadne came into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes. "Oh." She took in their disheveled appearance, their hands still tucked in each others' pants and the way they were flushed. Somehow, she wasn't terribly surprised by it at all, and she gave them a smile. "Differences settled, then?" She was satisfied by Arthur's quiet nod and reached around them to grab one of the glasses of iced tea. "I was lonely by myself. The bed's too cold without you both in it."

Eames gave her a playful leer, seeing her peaked nipples tenting the front of her nightgown. "I see that, darling."

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Damn lucky I'm tired, Eames. I'd wear you both out."

"I welcome the challenge," he said. He eyed Arthur playfully. "What d'you say? Contest in the morning, see who makes her come the most?"

Arthur gave him a slow smile. "I'll win."

"Wash up and come back to bed," Ariadne said with a smile.

Tumbling back into bed felt like coming home.

***  
***


	18. A Slippery Slope

He had thought he could do this without feeling horrible, but Eames wound up having to hide in a corner of the apartment to call Max. Arthur and Ariadne were in the sitting area, going over some research he had put together on someone else; Eames hadn't looked over the Ghost Network recently, but he could only guess that there was a complaint Arthur was looking into. He dialed Max's number, his eyes closed.

Max was nearly frantic when he realized it was Eames. "You sodding arsehole, you had me worried half to death! Where the hell are you?"

"I'm in Portugal," Eames admitted with a sigh. Hearing Max's voice like this almost made him rethink his earlier conviction to find out why Max had done this to him.

"How did you get _there?"_ Max asked, incredulous. "You were in Kenya, and I was checking the flight manifest of every airplane out of there since Christmas."

"Why'd you do that?"

"I know your common aliases," Max scoffed, laughing. "I know you too well, Eames. I figured it was worth a shot when the shit hit the fan in Mombasa. I mean, I figured you'd survive whatever happened. I knew you'd get back to me eventually. Calliope and Milton are selfish, so I'm not too surprised I haven't heard from them yet."

Eames rubbed his temple and blew out a breath. The casual words cut him deeply, a reminder that his friend had set him up. Max had known Calliope was still alive, had never told him. "I'm doing okay, now. I guess you don't know all my aliases, then."

Max snorted. "I can read you like a book, Eames. Something's up. Tell me."

 _I don't trust you anymore. I can't trust you, and it_ hurts. But Eames could never say such a thing, so he simply shrugged even though Max couldn't see the gesture. "Listen. A lot of crap happened to me. I'm a little messed up afterward."

"You need me there?" Max asked, concern in his voice.

Eames wanted to trust him. He _wanted_ to believe it was genuine, even if he couldn't trust it any longer. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse. He gave whatever details Max needed to book the flight right then, and Eames agreed to pick him up at the airport. Eames hung up and went to the living room and saw the two of them poring over notes. "Hey."

They both looked up, and Arthur frowned deeply at Eames' expression. "He wouldn't come?"

"He's coming," Eames said, shaking his head in disagreement. "He should be here tomorrow afternoon. I said I'd pick him up from the airport."

Ariadne patted the chair next to her, and Eames sat down. "Second thoughts?"

"Yes and no," he admitted with a rueful smile. "I don't want to believe it..."

"It's your call," Arthur said quietly. He didn't quite bother to cover up the information spread out over the desk, and Eames wondered if he should have been concerned about that. "If you change your mind, that's fine."

"He'd know who you are, what you were doing..."

"And we know he's the leader of at least one sleeper cell. He talks about me, we talk about him," Arthur said. There was a core of steel in his voice, and Eames had no doubt he would carry through on the threat. "You're safe, no matter what you choose."

Eames nodded and reached for one of the sheets in front of him, just to see what they were working on. A forger that was going into peoples' minds as part of her job, then deciding to take information to sell to the highest bidder. The highest bidder in a few cases included people that had been stalking the victims; she didn't care that the victims she was supposed to be protecting tended to be killed by their stalkers. "Nasty piece of work."

"They generally are," Arthur said quietly, nodding.

"In the research you did... When you go into their heads... Is there ever anything redeeming? Is there anything that makes you change your mind?" Eames asked quietly.

"I look for it, I really do," Arthur replied, taking the folder back from Eames. "I don't find it."

Eames nodded. He had been expecting that kind of an answer.

***

"Gotta say one thing, Eames. When you get lost, you get lost in _style."_

Eames laughed, falling into the usual camaraderie he had with Max. He was much the same as the last time he had seen him. It was easy to forget that he was mad at Max, that he was deeply hurt and feeling betrayed. Maybe because Max didn't act any different, and Eames was only too aware that his own head had been twisted into knots in the past month and a half. Eames didn't trust his own responses to things half of the time.

"You look good," he told Max quietly. He had his battered leather jacket over jeans and boots, his head and jaws smoothly shaven. Max was well rested, with that same easy going smile. His teeth flashed bright white against his dark skin, and his eyes danced merrily. "No, I'm not coming on to you, arse."

"Just checking. I'm a taken man, you know. Three months left to go, and then we're going to be parents. It's enough to make me wonder if I'm sane."

Eames snorted. "I wondered about that all these years..."

Max laughed and clapped Eames on the back. "This is a pretty sweet ride," he said, looking over the convertible Arthur had rented. "I didn't think you were that flush right now. I mean, you fell off the grid at Christmas."

"I had help getting here, true," Eames commented, sliding into the driver's seat. Max got into the passenger seat, tossing his overnight bag into the back of the convertible. "I was a mess in Kenya," he said quietly. "I almost died."

The smile died on Max's face. "I had no idea, Eames. Milton promised me he'd do right by you. I really thought it would be safer that way..."

"Let's not talk about this right now," Eames said tightly, starting to drive to the apartment. His stomach was roiling, and it was all he could do to pay attention to traffic and not punch Max in the mouth.

They had been friends for ten years. Max really should have known him better than that.

"Oh, don't be like that, mate," Max said breezily with a dismissive gesture. "No need to act like such a bitchy girl. Even my wife, as big as she is, doesn't complain as much as you do."

Eames bit the inside of his cheek to keep from responding. The pain also reminded him that this was real. Max really did just dismiss him in such a callous way.

"You don't think I planned to kill you, do you?" Max asked shrewdly, eyes narrowed. "Eames, what d'you take me for?"

"I'm too tired to figure out traffic and this conversation at the same time," he answered with a tired sigh.

"After all the trouble I went through going over your MI6 files, you can't believe I planned to kill you, Eames. Even you're not that thick."

"Just... Give me a few, will you?"

Max looked out at the passing view as they approached the city. "At least tell me you're not going to work for Scotland Yard. Tell me you're out of the game."

"I'm not going back to England," Eames replied, still holding onto the wheel with a tight grip. He kept his eyes on the road, rather than on Max.

This entire thing didn't ring true for him, and he hated to think that perhaps he had never really known Max as well as he thought he had.

Eames led Max to the apartment Arthur had rented. "Quite posh, all of this," Max commented as they went up the elevator. "I didn't think you had this much in cash on you."

"I'm staying with friends," Eames murmured, unlocking the front door to the apartment. "They had to nurse me back to health."

"Seriously, Eames, I didn't expect that to happen. You have to believe me. Milton said he could keep it all under control. You'd be down far enough to have a nice, happy dream of whatever you wanted most in the world, and the rest of the men could go scurrying around unimpeded to get what they needed. It was just to buy your way in to get their protection. You have to believe that," Max said, shaking his head at Eames' stunned expression. "There's no point to the whole thing if you didn't survive it, right?"

Hanging the keys up on the hook next to the door, Eames turned to look at Max. "Did you ever stop to think that perhaps I liked the life I had before?"

Max snorted. "You'd've been killed by the Dream Killer sooner or later, Eames. What kind of friend would I be to let that happen if I can stop it?"

"I wasn't in any danger from him," Eames told Max.

"So you say. But you got the farthest that anyone ever had, and he'd looked at your files. I know he did. It wasn't the first time, either." Max shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets as he contemplated Eames. "You aren't big on asking for help, mate. So I had to take it upon myself to help you."

Eames made himself go through the motions of propriety, taking Max's jacket to hang up, getting his overnight bag and asking after his wife. He felt hollow and unreal, as if he was talking to a stranger that somehow knew things about him. He got Max iced tea laced with sedatives, and watched dispassionately as he drank all of it down.

He sat there as Max nodded off mid sentence. Now what?

Arthur and Ariadne came in from the bedroom. "I almost didn't think you were going to go through with it," Arthur said, frowning at Eames. Ariadne was carrying the PASIV they had taken from Calliope in Mombasa.

He looked up at him with blank eyes. "I almost didn't think I would, either."

"Ready to go in?" Ariadne asked, opening the PASIV and starting to get the doses of sedative and somnacin ready. The plan was to go one level down, Arthur as the dreamer, and to get details out of Max. Whatever he had told Eames already might be the truth, but it might just as easily be what he wanted Eames to think was the truth.

Steeling himself for it, Eames nodded and extended his arm for her to slide the needles in. "I'm ready," he told her, not sure if he truly meant it.

***

It looked almost like Baltimore, Maryland. Eames remembered that Max had liked the Eastern US seaboard, and that Baltimore had been a nice compromise between him and his wife. She had liked a bigger city, so that there could be plays and opera and shopping, and Max needed to live where he could find something easily defensible. He mostly needed a reliable internet connection and phone lines. Everything else was negotiable.

He found Max at the Inner Harbor, walking along to Fuddrucker's. Shaking his head, he called out to Max and jogged to catch up. "Those burgers will clog your arteries, mate," he said, trying to sound cheerful and friendly as usual.

It must have worked, because Max laughed, much the way he used to. "Well, they taste good. Come on, then. I'll treat you. I haven't seen you in ages."

Arthur had said that it would be easier for him to simply talk with Max, to ask leading questions as if he was talking to a witness for a case. Ariadne agreed to build a location that would be comfortable for Max, to lower his defenses. The two of them would sit nearby, ready to help if he needed it. Knowing that helped; Eames was finding it hard to step outside of himself and think of Max as just another informant.

"If I was going to need to leave Scotland Yard permanently, how would you do it?" Eames asked Max once they were halfway through their massive burgers.

"Has there been a problem, mate?" Max asked, brows knit. "Mayhew's done a bang up job keeping most of them away from you. He's better than I gave him credit for."

"I think MI6 is going to make a move to snag me back," Eames said, grasping a French fry. "I don't want to work for them again."

"MI6 won't be that stupid, Eames. After that cockup seven years ago? They won't want you back. I made sure of that when you wouldn't just pretend to be dead like me."

Eames frowned at Max. "What are you talking about?"

"I told you," Max said patiently. "MI6 isn't anything to worry about." He made a face at Eames' incredulous look. "You never wanted to know the specifics before. I've made annotations in your personnel file there. You're damaged goods as far as they're concerned."

"Did you say it was my fault it all went south, then?"

Max snorted. "Why? That would paint a target on your forehead. No, it was easiest to simply call that one a terrorist act and leave it at that."

"So what did you say? What did you put in my file?"

Rolling his eyes, Max sighed. "Really, Eames? Seven years later and you start giving a shit what MI6 think of you? Because honestly, it doesn't matter now. The important part was getting them off your back. I put in that you were compromised, too busy fucking your teammates to see what was going on and there were potential security leaks. Add that to the terrorists going ape shit in Mombasa, and they believed every word. Calliope did her job only too well on that front."

"Whoa, back up there. Start over. What about Calliope?"

Max rolled his eyes at Eames and pointed at him with a French fry. "Honestly, Eames. When did you get to be this thick? Read between the lines. MI6 never hung us out to dry. We were making a break for it. You were supposed to come with us."

"So Lucius, Chester and Essman were just collateral damage?" Eames asked, somehow managing to keep his voice level. He was seething; he had never asked what Max had done before, so he had never known how deep this betrayal had gone.

"Of course. You weren't partial to them, were you? Calliope said that Chester was just a plaything, really. Lucius was a moron and Essman was too full of himself. No small loss on those three, really. The three of us were the real team, you know."

Eames forced himself to chew his mouthful of burger for a count of ten before swallowing. That allowed him to calm down enough to respond. "I suppose you're right about that. So where was Calliope hiding all these years? I really thought she was dead."

"She was out and about. You know, getting more people together. She was the head of that one team in Mombasa, but she helped get Milton involved, too. There's a team in Mozambique that she was kind of involved in, and I coordinated efforts with three other teams in Zaire."

"You've been pretty busy."

"There's a lot of money in it, Eames. Don't discount how well you can do for yourself once you start collecting payouts from the highest bidders." Max took a lengthy swallow of his Coke. "I mean, you're a great forger and a pretty good extractor when you put your mind to it. A little more training, and you'd be able to do amazing things for the teams I control."

"I can't imagine MI6 would've been in the dark about these kinds of activities," Eames replied, shaking his head. He ignored the crack about his abilities. He couldn't afford to take it personally right now.

Max snorted. "Stupid fuckers didn't see what was right under their noses. I mean, really, what did they expect when they send people overseas for years at a time, underfunded, out in the middle of nowhere with crosshairs on my back? I did what I had to do. Calliope understands how it goes. She's another survivor." He leaned back in his chair. "So what's this about, then? You're starting to get fed up with how the Mother Country is treating you? You're another cog in the machine to them. You don't matter, not as _you._ They only care what they can get out of you. It's sad, really. I'm glad you came around to my way of thinking."

"So what have you got?" Eames asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Getting you out of there, you mean?"

"Yeah. How would you do it to make it so I can't go back to England?"

Max laughed. "That's easy, mate. MI6 thinks you're damaged goods. They won't want to deal with you, but if I make it so that it's _their_ fault you wind up dead, they'll never look that hard into it. So I just pull the strings and watch them go." He shook his head. "Milton's easy enough to use that way. He pants after Calliope so badly. He's my cousin now and all, but he's such a patsy. Just dangle Calliope, Milton asks me how high he should jump. It's sad."

"So you make Milton act dodgy, get me called in?"

"Yeah. Easy enough to do. You're ex-MI6, you know how it goes without them having to tell you anything concrete. They'd be desperate, because Milton is really good at what he does when he puts his fucking mind to it. You would get to call the shots, they'd let you. You'd take a team down to Mombasa, and then everything unfolds." Max laughed. "Piece of cake. Everyone leaves happy, and MI6 will be only too happy to close the file and never look back. As far as the government is concerned, you're dead and buried."

Eames swallowed a French fry he couldn't taste. "I see. Pretty well thought out. But how are you going to get this team of yours to accept me without references?"

Shrugging negligently, Max snagged a French fry from Eames' plate. "Data mining for trivial shit. Got to give them something, you know? It's still a risk on their end, no matter how many times I tell them it's not. But it's no big deal. This is what Milton's good at. He'll put you under pretty damn deep. He tells me it's an unstable dream, but he has different protocols that will let it happen. You get to dream of whatever you like while they go rooting around upstairs, so to speak. When they're done, they wake you up and you're in."

"You could just ask me," Eames replied tightly. He saw someone stand out of the corner of his eye that looked like Arthur, and it reminded him to calm down.

Max sighed. "Yeah, and they're really going to believe a word you say," he said sarcastically, just barely managing not to roll his eyes. "Come on, Eames. _Think._ They need something from you that they can trust. If they take it out of your head, they know they can trust it. People can come up with all kinds of stupid shite when under torture. You know that."

Eames blew out a breath in frustration. "What's the risk, then?"

"If Milton does his job right? None."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then it's Milton's life on the line. Honestly, though, you'd better agree. I don't like how things are going for you right now."

"What are you on about?"

"The Dream Killer, mate..."

"Not that again..."

"I'm serious," Max hissed, eyes flashing. "Don't you dare put me off on this again. This is a very real threat, Eames. He knows entirely too much about you. Knows just about _everything,_ to be perfectly honest. He looked up your Yard work, the MI6 shit, everything. He even cracked open the classified files. The Dream Killer has seen _everything,_ mate, I told you. I almost didn't even see it, remember? The bastard has serious skills, and he knows your file inside and out. He'll find you, just like he finds everyone else. I've lost enough friends in this business. You need to get out and you need to get out _now."_

"I've got this one covered."

"No, you _don't."_ Max's eyes were harder than Eames ever remembered seeing them, and he was suddenly aware of how much time had gone by between their visits or phone calls. There was a lot about Max he didn't know. There was too much he couldn't even begin to guess. "You don't see what happens in this, because you're in the middle of it. You still think it's just a case. He takes it so fucking personal. He goes after them where they work, where they live, anyplace they feel comfortable. It's to prove they aren't untouchable after all. They're just pieces of meat to this asshole. He takes them apart after doing God only knows what to their minds. I've seen the forensics reports. You have, too. You know he likely goes in deep, and he does it repeatedly. He's got to be torturing the everloving shit out of them. He gets off on it. You know how that type is. I don't want you part of it. I don't want him getting his hands on you."

It was on the tip of Eames' tongue to tell Max just how wrong he was about Arthur, but he couldn't make the words come out. He couldn't tell Max just what happened when Arthur got his hands on him. Amazingly enough, Arthur was a steady, solid presence. He was calming when Eames thought he was going off the deep end, and he really understood what was going on with him. Arthur was actually helping him feel human again, more like the man he used to be before Max had set this plan of his in motion.

Max destroyed his life because of Arthur, but Arthur was the one that was helping him rebuild it.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you I was safe, would you?"

"You've got no protections this fucker would honor, Eames." Max shook his head and looked almost sorry. "Really, I've thought this out and talked it over with a few of my guys out in the field. Not using your name, of course. The Dream Killer is internationally known. They know that Interpol and the Feds and the Yard can't do shit. They have no idea who he is, and getting rid of that FBI agent did nothing but boost the Killer's cred. The underground is scared shitless of this guy." Max hit the table with his extended forefinger to underscore his point. "If some of those assholes are scared of this guy, it's a big deal. Hardly anyone wants to get on his radar anymore, you understand? These are hard line guys that aren't scared of _anything,_ and they don't want any part of the Dream Killer's deal. You can't win against that. It's safest for you if you run. I don't want to see you end up like your friend."

Eames rubbed at his face tiredly. He couldn't tell Max about Ariadne, either. It wasn't his story to tell, and it was just too complicated at this point.

He was ending up just like her, though, wasn't he? And he couldn't tell Max any of it.

"What if I cut a deal with the Dream Killer?" Eames asked, staring at Max. He would give this one more shot. He couldn't just give up. Whatever Max had become, whatever he believed, Eames couldn't simply give up on ten years of friendship that easily.

Max snorted. "Dream on, Eames. You think a psycho like that can be dealt with? You think there's any honor amongst thieves? You know better than that, boyo. You can't trust anyone you don't know or that isn't bought and paid. No, my friend, your only way to safety is _out."_

Eames sighed and blotted his mouth with a napkin. "I'll have to think on it."

"What's there to think about?" Max asked, growing angry. "It's all set. I'm ready to move on this _now._ I've already got Milton starting to get the department antsy. He's about ready to cut and run. I just need to give him the word."

"Just _wait,_ will you?" Eames cried, exasperated. "I don't want to do it this way."

Max made a pitying noise as he shook his head. "Eames. There's no other way around it, I promise you. We'll make it easy on you, but this is the only way to keep you safe. I promise you that. You have my word, mate."

 _It's not good enough,_ Eames thought tiredly, rising from the table. "I need to think on it."

He left without looking back, Max shouting his name. He saw Arthur stand and Ariadne look alarmed out of the corner of his eyes. He knew they had heard everything, and he knew that this only validated what Arthur had found. Did Max really know him so little? Did he really not care about Eames' opinion in this at all?

Eames burst outside and dashed across the street, heedless of the dream traffic. Fuck it all, anyway. He could impale himself on the never ending construction of the Inner Harbor or throw himself into the water and drown to wake himself up. He had hoped Arthur was wrong. He had hoped there was another explanation for Max's comments on the phone. He had wanted to be wrong. He wanted Max to be saved.

His feet slipped out from under him as he ran across the uneven pavement. He heard Ariadne call out his name as she exited the restaurant, but he wasn't listening. He pitched headfirst into the harbor waters and sucked in a lungful of water. It _burned,_ almost as much as his disappointment did. He didn't fight it, and let himself get dragged down beneath the surface.

Eames awoke abruptly, gasping for breath with his chest on fire.

He yanked the line from his arm and fell out of the chair and onto his knees. He stumbled away from the PASIV and Max's sleeping form. He couldn't stand the sight of Max, couldn't look at him, couldn't make his mind wrap around what he had heard. Eames hadn't needed to pull any fancy tricks to get Max to talk about it at all, and that was probably what had hurt the most. Max had been so straightforward about what he had done, with no consideration whatsoever for what Eames would have wanted.

Ariadne gasped awake and then sat up in her chair. She rubbed at the crick in her neck and then carefully removed her own line. She knelt beside Eames. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked, running her hand along his back.

"Arthur's in there with him," Eames gasped, looking over their sleeping forms. "What's he going to do now?"

"Follow Max, see what he does in the dream. It's large, and he's not onto us at all. He never saw us, so he thinks it's real. Arthur's going to see who he talks to."

Eames shut his eyes painfully. "I wanted to be wrong. I knew I wasn't, but I _wanted_ to be wrong. I was ready to be fooled, Ariadne. I was ready, and he couldn't even do that."

She pressed her face against his neck. "I'm sorry, Eames. I really am."

His breath was painful in his chest. "He never asked me what I wanted. How could he believe I would go through with this? How could he believe I'd want this?" Ariadne didn't answer, just rubbed at his back in slow circles. "I couldn't... God, how could he think I'd simply rent myself out for hire like that?"

"You're better than he gives you credit for," Ariadne whispered against his neck.

"He's a _terrorist,"_ Eames gulped in disbelief. "I never saw it, never suspected. I mean, I knew he was on the underground. Bad enough, but I've done my share of shit that way, too. It's hard not to sometimes. I never suspected it was worse than that. Never suspected he might've been behind some of the shit that went down." He turned to Ariadne with a pained expression. "I don't know what to do now."

"You don't have to decide. He never saw us. You can wake him up and pack him off if you want to. It will all be okay."

"No, it won't. He leads five cells. At least, five he talked about. Who knows if there's more than that? He's a _terrorist._ I can't... I might not be MI6 any longer, and I can't go back to Scotland Yard, but I can't let that go. Whatever else between us, I can't just let him go back to doing that. I can't let him just destroy innocent lives because he can."

Ariadne held his hand tightly. "Are you sure?" she asked softly. "There's no going back once you start it."

Eames looked at her with a pained expression. "Something has to be done," he whispered. "I don't know if I can do it, but something has to be done."

"You're not alone," Ariadne whispered. "We're always going to be with you."

Eames wrapped his arms around her, unable to speak. She already knew how grateful he was anyway. She didn't need to hear the words.

***  
***


	19. The Sound Of Letting Go

Arthur pushed a teacup into Eames' hands when Ariadne went under with Max. Eames was startled by it and looked up at him in surprise. "Ariadne told me you didn't eat anything while I was still under. So you're going to at least drink this, and we can tell her you're not in shock anymore when she wakes up."

Eames looked over at Ariadne's sleeping form. She was sprawled across the couch now, pillows comfortably propped beneath her head. Eames had moved Max to the floor with her help before Arthur woke, but he hadn't been able to do anything more than that. "What did you find out, then?" he asked, taking the teacup. He made no move to drink yet.

"He made some calls overseas, talked to his wife. She made some more calls, presumably to Milton. Everything was long distance, but I haven't tracked them down yet." Arthur sat down beside Eames at the table. "You don't have to hear this if you don't want to. You can still back out if you want. There's still time."

"She said the same thing," Eames murmured, finally sipping at the tea. It was still warm, and settled comfortably in his empty stomach. "I wanted to believe there was another reason for what he said," he told Arthur, looking down at the cup. "I knew there really wasn't, I did, but..." He looked up at Arthur with a bleak expression. "Ten years we were friends, Arthur. How can I just throw that away? How could he?"

"He didn't think he was," Arthur reminded him gently. "That probably doesn't help matters to hear, but it's still true."

"He's a terrorist," Eames said, finding the syllables just as distasteful as when he first uttered them. "I don't... He should know me better than that. I don't work with that sort."

"You want me to track them down, then? The other cells he mentioned?" Arthur asked. He reached out and grasped Eames' hand impulsively, and was somewhat gratified when Eames grasped it tightly as he nodded. "I can do that for you. You don't have to go back in if you don't want to. You don't have to be part of it."

Eames looked at him mournfully. "I do, though. I need to know how it started. That talk about funding and all that. It was true, but it shouldn't have been the reason. We've worked with shit funding before. It couldn't have been why he turned."

"Not everyone is as honorable as you are."

He shook his head then drained the teacup. "If you asked me months ago who the trustworthy ones were, his name would've been tops on my list. I've asked for his help dozens of times, and he'd never done me a bad turn until now. I still... I don't want to believe this, even as he tells me it's true. It's fucking hopeless."

Arthur rubbed his fingers across Eames' knuckles. "He's still your friend, however twisted up his motives are. He still has concern for your well being. Being a terrorist doesn't mean he doesn't still care about you."

"Like you killing people doesn't mean you don't care about Ariadne."

"Or you," Arthur told him quietly. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Arthur leaned forward to kiss Eames on the mouth.

Eames parted his lips beneath Arthur's and made a soft sound deep in his throat. "This isn't just because of Ariadne, then?" he asked.

"You should know better than that by now," Arthur replied. "Come on." He tugged Eames toward the bedroom, recognizing that lost look on Eames' face. Ariadne had the same look when she had first come out of the dreaming with Bruss. She couldn't quite reconcile her different urges with her self perception. She hadn't wanted to believe it was all real.

People were twisted, tangled kinds of things. Sometimes it was easier to see them when there was no emotion involved at all. Arthur was finding it harder and harder to keep that kind of impartial viewpoint around them, however. He was invested in their wellbeing, and he needed them both. He could still see their strengths and flaws, but it was something he was growing more willing to excuse.

He wasn't too different from Eames in that respect after all.

Arthur pushed Eames down onto his hands and knees on the bed after getting him out of his clothes. He slicked his fingers with lube and started sliding his fingers into him. "Just focus on me," Arthur said, voice gravelly with arousal. "Just this, and me, and what I'm doing. This is all you need to think about. This is all you need to feel."

Eames fisted the comforter in his hands and moaned. "Arthur..." he began with a moan, twisting sideways to look at him. "Please..."

"What do you need?" Arthur asked, voice gentle as he leaned over Eames. He pressed his lips against his temple.

"I want to see you," he gasped. "I need to know this is _you."_

"You want to see me fucking you?" Arthur asked, and he watched Eames nod shakily. "You want to watch me do this?"

Eames reached out and grasped the arm Arthur was using to brace himself next to Eames' bent form. "I need to know this is real. That I'm not making it up. Please. You have to give me that much, Arthur."

He curled his fingers slightly, and Eames made a soft choking sound as pleasure shot through him. "This is real, Eames. You piss me off and you make me think I'm going to lose Ariadne and you make me _feel_ and I fucking hate that we're too much alike."

Eames fell to his side as Arthur pulled back and hurriedly stripped off his clothes. He watched him slide on a condom and lube up, then helped guide Arthur into place, groaning at the tight fit. He held onto Arthur's forearms tightly, staring into his eyes. Eames wondered how he ever could have doubted that this was reality. His dreams had never been this intense.

Arthur came embarrassingly quickly, Eames nowhere close to release. He tossed the spent condom into the trash and took Eames into his mouth, making him hiss in pleasure. He arched his back and grasped the back of Arthur's head, moaning incoherently. His hips bucked against Arthur's mouth, and he let out a desperate groan as he came. Arthur lifted his head and kissed Eames, hands tangling in his hair. "This is real," Arthur growled against Eames' mouth. It was a tangling of tongue and teeth and lips. Eames could taste himself in the kiss, something that had never happened in his dream. That Arthur had always seemed too polite. "She's too nice to think of fucking the shock out of you, that's all. This is _real,_ and I'd never let you get lost in dreams again. I promise you."

He had needed to hear that, and it was awkward to know that he had been so transparent. But then, Arthur had said that they were too much alike. Perhaps Arthur had needed the same kind of reassurance himself. That helped ease Eames' mind a little.

"We're going to kill him, aren't we?" Eames asked in a small voice.

With surprising tenderness, Arthur stroked Eames' cheeks. He didn't think Eames realized what he had said. "It all depends on Max, doesn't it?" he murmured. "If it doesn't fit, we don't."

But it would. They both knew that.

***

Ariadne waited until Arthur was under with Max before smirking at Eames. "He kissed you pretty damn hard, didn't he?"

Eames ignored the glee in her tone to check the timer. He was only going under for ten minutes, not the full hour that Ariadne had been in the dream. "He's not going in for long?"

"He's better at it than I am," she said. "That, and Max knows what I look like from the files he had of me. So it was harder for me to keep out of sight. I couldn't make too many changes to the dream or else he'd know what was up."

"What did you see?" Eames asked softly.

The smile slipped from her face and she drew Eames down to the floor to sit beside her. "He hopped onto a plane to meet with Milton. I couldn't change my face too well, so I had to hang back a bit and rely on some tech that doesn't really exist to listen in. Max was setting up the whole thing with MI6. I assume it's how he did it in reality. It seemed entirely too practiced to be something he was just making up on the fly." Ariadne watched Eames' expression carefully, concerned for his state of mind. "Money changed hands. It looked like a lot of money, in at least three different currencies."

"Hedging his bets," Eames said quietly. "He used to do that a lot, pay in triplicate. Overpay and be sure you bought their loyalty for the length of the job. People always remember the ones that pay well, and they're more likely to do the job they're hired for..."

Ariadne caught his hand and held it tightly. "Eames..." she began uncertainly.

"No more cat and mouse shite. I need to go back under."

"Give him the ten minutes, and then we'll go in using the maze." Her voice was firm. "This right now is fooling him, but if you go in and start in on him, he'll see right through it. His projections will tear you apart."

"You knew you were going to have to do this," he said, shoulders slumping. "You knew I'd hope, but you always knew it would come to this."

She pulled him into a hug. "Honey, we wanted to be prepared, just in case. We explained how it worked, what we do and why. You needed to know what to expect from this. It's enough of a shock to know that we do it."

Eames let his eyes fall shut and simply held her. He felt tired and sore, not just because of how rough Arthur had been earlier. "You did warn me. I didn't want to listen."

"You were _hoping,"_ Ariadne corrected. "I'd think there was something wrong with you if you didn't."

His laughter was mirthless and hollow. "I want to hit him so bad," he said, his voice shaking. "He treated me like a fucking mark. Like I was nothing but a plus in the assets column, like ten years of friendship meant _nothing."_

"Arthur's going to get the information on the other cells, you know. He'll get it all before the end comes. Then you can decide what to do with it."

Eames pulled back and looked at Ariadne's earnest face. She cared about him and respected his opinion. She knew he would never do something like this to him, and would spare him any kind of pain. Arthur would do the same. They knew the meaning of sacrifice, what loss and pain could do to someone. They knew better than to add to it for personal gain.

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip gently. He really was just like her, just like Arthur.

The knowledge didn't bother him in the slightest anymore.

"We need to raze those cells to the ground. I might not be MI6 anymore, but I know my duty to my country. I can't let them survive if I know where they are."

Ariadne smiled and nodded. "I had a feeling you'd say that. Did you know there's a guy nearby that sells quality plastique? I was asking about bombs and things on the Network yesterday while you were driving in from the airport."

"That's... fortuitous," Eames blinked, surprised.

"Trying to anticipate your needs," she said, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose. "I didn't ask how much he charged, but I'm sure we can find out in the nine minutes we've got left on the timer, right?"

Eames felt a calm settle over him. Whatever happened with Max, however that went down, he knew exactly what else needed to be done. Then he could start over again with a fresh slate and a clean conscience.

***

The room was a white octagon, doors set flush to the frames with no discernible doorknobs or keys. The walls were thick, and it was meant to be difficult to get into. Eames had seen Ariadne's sketches, and knew that even if Max's projections made it past the maze, it would take some serious explosives to break down the walls.

Max was strapped down to a hospital bed in four point leathers, and there was a syringe of clear fluid in Ariadne's hand. Arthur was standing at the head of the bed, just outside of Max's line of vision, and Eames was standing on the other side of Max, in line with Ariadne. He had a mesh sheet in hand, the kind that psychiatric emergency rooms kept on hand if the four point restraints weren't enough to protect the patients from hurting themselves.

Some part of him was disturbed that he knew this, and that they were using it on Max. Another part of him didn't fucking care anymore.

Max was awake, mouth falling open as he began to thrash around. Arthur had put the straps on tightly before they let Max wake up, and they were tighter than they really should have been. He snarled, trying to pull at the wrist and ankle restraints, and he looked over at Eames and Ariadne in shock. "Mate, lemme outta here. You got to let me out."

"In due time," Eames said, voice without inflection.

He struggled even more, and Ariadne smiled pleasantly. "I think we need to calm him down," she said, sounding like any emergency room nurse Eames had ever had the misfortune of meeting. She was even dressed in white scrubs, with the rubber soled shoes and tights to match, and a blank name tag clipped to the pocket of her scrubs.

If anything, Max struggled even more, eyes wild and fixed on Eames. "You've got to help me. What the fuck is going on? What is this place?"

Arthur's hands clamped down on either side of Max's head. "This is where you tell us what we want to know. This is where you tell us your secrets." He leaned over Max, his lips pulled back in a rictus grin that Eames knew was chilling to see. "This is where it all begins."

"You can't do this," Max said, shaking his head and trying to bite Arthur's fingers. He failed at both attempts. "I have rights."

"You're not a citizen of any country any longer." Arthur's voice was deceptively placid. "And this is a place where the Geneva Conventions really don't apply."

"Eames, mate, get this fucker off of me."

"I think we need to settle him down. Perhaps the same formula that Milton used," Ariadne said, her voice deceptively sweet.

"Get that shit away from me!" Max howled, shimmying within the confines of the leather restraints. They dug into his wrists and ankles, and he could feel the skin chafe painfully as he pulled. He didn't care; he had to get away from the needle in Ariadne's hand. "I know you. I know you from somewhere..."

"Do you?" she asked, her face carefully blank and her eyes looking so wide and innocent. It gave Max pause, and she pushed the needle into the deltoid muscle. Max howled, and she massaged the spot with her gloved fingers before pushing the needle guard over the edge of it. "There we are. It shouldn't be long now."

"You can't do this!"

"It's already done, Max," Eames told him evenly, catching hold of Max's chin. Between Arthur's hands and his own, Max's head was fully pinioned. "It's already begun. You had your plans going on without me. So did I."

Max's jaw tightened. "I only tried to help you. There's still ways out..."

Eames smiled with a confidence he didn't really feel. "Yes, there are. I've found it. I suppose I should thank you for opening my eyes, mate. I never saw you for the opportunist you really are. But I see you now. I see what you're willing to do, the people you're willing to break to make it happen. I see just how little our friendship meant. But it's all right, Max. I forgive you. I really do. I promise, I won't treat you the way you treated me. You'll always know it's me that's doing this to you. And you'll always know why."

"I protected you," Max snarled, baring his teeth. "I kept you alive, you ungrateful fuck. We all have to pay the cost, you know that. Don't blame me for your fuckups."

"Love," Eames murmured, looking over at Ariadne. "I should get the first slice, shouldn't I?"

Her smile was gentle and vaguely like the one a nurse would give a patient when she's about to say something uncomfortable. "We can start that way, yes." She pulled over the rolling tray and placed it on Eames' side of the bed. She took the netting and rolled it up with brisk efficiency, ignoring the way Max screamed at the sight of it.

Eames took the proffered latex gloves she offered him, and put them on carefully. Max followed the movement with his eyes wide open, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You haven't asked me anything," he said finally. "You can't start doing this until I refuse."

"I know what our training was," Eames replied easily, moving aside the blue cloth covering the surgical steel tools. Ariadne whisked it away with the same efficiency that she had taken the mesh sheet, tucking it under the hospital bed. He lifted a scalpel that was already fitted with a number ten blade, watching the light glint off its clean edge. "I also know that I'll never get what I really need to know."

"This is simply torture, then," Max breathed, looking at Eames incredulously.

"Yes, I suppose it is." He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace of a smile, something that eerily almost looked like Arthur's. "Shall we begin?"

Eames made the first incision over Max's sternum. He continued long after Max stopped screaming, long after the blood stopped flowing.

It wasn't Max he was cutting apart any longer. He was cutting apart the last vestiges of their friendship.

***  
***


	20. Promises Made And Kept

Eames scrubbed at his fingers, digging under his fingernails with a dedication that rivaled any surgeon's. He had tipped over the chess piece about a dozen times, but kept scrubbing at his hands methodically. They were red and raw, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop. He couldn't help but see the echo of blood worked into his hands, despite the gloves he had worn in the dream, despite the fact that it had never been real.

Ariadne had gone through this. Arthur had gone through this. He would be fine. He would learn how to deal with it. He just had to figure out the trick of it. There was always a trick to it. He just had to figure it out.

He left the bathroom when he heard the front door to the apartment bang shut. His body was still aching, his hands were raw, the inside of his elbow was sore and his head swam a bit. The tea hadn't really given him enough energy to handle the dreaming state. They had gone two layers down; after he had killed Max, he had been sent up a layer into a similar octagonal room all alone and strapped to a similar table. Eames had shot himself in the head to go up a layer, and Arthur and Ariadne woke beside him soon after. Max had already screamed himself hoarse on this layer, and Arthur had added a sedative so that Max would fall asleep before they got up from their positions on the floor. Eames understood why they hadn't wanted Max to see them on this particular layer, and he had simply stared at him before shooting himself in the head again.

He should have felt something, but he simply felt hollow.

Ariadne had a bakery box and an encouraging smile. "I got scones," she announced briskly. "I even got cream and strawberry jam for it, and both Darjeeling and Earl Gray tea," she told both of the men. "Any preference?"

Everyone picked out the Earl Gray, and she set the kettle to start boiling the water. Eames looked out over the teacups and the scones she was arranging on the table. It seemed so very normal, so much like the English teas he used to have at home when his parents were still alive. Nothing was out of the ordinary, was it? He hadn't just done something horrible.

He found himself laughing so hard that he bent over at the waist, missed his chair and fell to the floor. There were tears at the corners of his eyes, and somewhere along the lines the laughter had turned to sobs. Both Ariadne and Arthur were close but just waiting. Somehow they seemed to know he had to pull himself back together on this one.

He had known Ariadne for a year, Arthur for less than that. They _knew_ him, though. He hadn't needed to tell them anything. In a way, that almost stung. Was he that transparent, or were they simply that good?

Eames managed to stop shortly before the kettle started whistling. No one mentioned his reaction as an anomaly, which made Eames wonder if they had done that, too. Maybe that was why they understood his reaction. Maybe that was why they could give him space, or not comment about why his hands were so red and raw, nearly cracked in places. He would probably need to borrow Ariadne's lotion to smooth them out and repair the damage he had done scrubbing at his skin, and he knew she would give it to him without comment. It was comforting to know that.

There wasn't much conversation. Eames was only too aware of Max's sedated body in the living room, the PASIV still humming. Arthur had placed ice chips in his mouth with practiced care, and Eames remembered the feel of Arthur's fingers on his lips doing the same when he was delirious in Geneva. It had sparked irrational jealousy, which he had ruthlessly shoved aside. This was clinical, a necessity to keep Max alive. Arthur had been careful with Eames, had watched over his unstable vitals and helped bring him back to life. It was completely different, something that linked them irrevocably together.

"Sorry about earlier," Eames murmured as he helped to clear the table.

"Don't apologize," Ariadne said, leaning in and giving him a light kiss. "You did what you needed to do, and you came back to us. It's okay."

Arthur simply watched him with dark eyes. He didn't offer any platitudes like "It gets easier" or "I still respect you," which Eames appreciated. "We're taking a break," he said instead, voice firm. "Let's take a walk or visit one of the parks."

Eames blinked in surprise, but saw the wisdom in that. "Yeah. Good idea."

Max wasn't going anywhere. There was time to do this right, when his head was fully in the game. The next time Eames went under, he would be able to ask questions.

***

Eames sat on a park bench and watched people go by. He was wedged between Ariadne and Arthur, and they were talking about a book Ariadne had just picked up that she thought Arthur might like to read once he was done researching himself half to death. Eames found himself chuckling at Arthur's affronted expression, and slung an arm around his shoulders. "You are going to be a dreadful stick in the mud if you don't live a little."

Arthur merely lofted an eyebrow at him. "And I'm listening to you why?"

"She's recommending a fantasy novel, Arthur. Sounds rather like Lord of the Rings."

"Tolkien crafted an entire world," Arthur pointed out. "Have you ever tried reading the Silmarillion?" he asked in arch tones.

"Nope," Eames said cheerfully, hearing the challenge in Arthur's voice. He winked at Ariadne's pleased smile and started debating the finer points of various fantasy tales with Arthur, who was fairly well read. Ariadne jumped into the discussion as well, and before they knew it, the park was getting empty. "Oh. Dinner time, loves," he remarked, looking around. "We didn't even notice how late it was getting."

Ariadne dropped a soft kiss onto Eames' cheek. "Dinner at home or out?"

Feeling vaguely guilty for enjoying himself so much while Max was sedated, Eames sighed. "It should be in, I think. Check in on him."

"Take out it is, then," Arthur declared, standing. He helped up both Ariadne and Eames and they made their way back to the apartment. "You don't have to let it consume you," Arthur told Eames as Ariadne waited in line for their order.

"Like you don't let it consume you?" Eames asked in arch tones.

Lips quirked into a smile, Arthur shook his head. "Consider me a cautionary tale, then."

"I promise I'll keep a level head," Eames told him. He let his fingers slide across the sensitive skin on the inside of Arthur's wrist and watched his breath catch. "You have to promise me the same thing. Maybe Ariadne won't make you promise that, but I need to know you'll still be around. I almost lost you in the dream I had. I don't want to go through that again."

Arthur looked at Eames, something unreadable in his expression. "I don't plan on getting lost, and I haven't yet. I've been at this a long time."

"But not with others," Eames guessed. "You strike me as someone careful because you have to be, because of how dangerous it can be. With us, you might not be as careful. We can't lose you to this, Arthur. _Promise me."_

Surprised by the intensity of Eames' voice, Arthur could only nod. "It's fair," he said.

Ariadne came back with their orders and they ate quietly back in the apartment. "You sure you're ready for another trip?" she asked Eames.

He nodded firmly. "I'm sure. The park was just the thing I needed to remind me why we're doing this. He can't go about fucking with people like that, and he sure as shit can't be allowed to let those other sleeper cells kill anyone else. We need to find them and destroy them."

Arthur knelt over the PASIV and started programming the settings. "How much time do you want in the dream?"

Eames paused, almost surprised that Arthur was going to let him take the lead. But then, this was his project. He was the one that had to give them direction, because they would only take it as far as he was willing to go. "Give me a few hours," he said quietly. "Max was always a stubborn bastard, and I'm going to need time."

Nodding briskly, Arthur set the timer on the PASIV for an hour real time. That would give them approximately six hours in the dream with the somnacin and light sedation. The three of them hooked themselves up and Arthur hit the button.

They began to dream.

Instead of a white octagonal room, it was the dingy streets in the corners of Old Town Mombasa, just the way Eames remembered that it looked seven years ago. He could see the blast craters from the bombs that had killed Essman. He had been an honest sort, which probably had been the death knell for him when Max and Calliope had decided to leave MI6. He had willingly stayed behind to give the others a shot at surviving, never knowing that Max had pulled the strings and let them all die. Essman had been nothing more than collateral damage, a name on a piece of paper that would allow Max and Calliope to go free.

Ariadne's maze was still out there somewhere, with the thick concrete walls that would be nearly impossible for Max's projections to blast through. This was a place for Max to start feeling slightly comfortable, or to at least start thinking of the other cells. There was a safe hidden in one of the walls of one of the old buildings, and all Eames would have to do is start talking to Max about the sleeper cells to fill it.

Looking just like Calliope, Eames walked the streets of Old Town. Max would find him soon enough. He had time. Ariadne and Arthur could wait for the safe to fill.

He was in the marketplace when Max fell into step beside him. "Calliope," he hissed, trying to draw her attention. He scowled at Calliope's trademark smirk sent in his direction. "Fuck. I need to talk to you _now."_

"Do you really? Milton should be on his way in soon enough," Eames replied in Calliope's lofty tones. It visibly grated on Max's nerves, making him reach out and grasp Calliope's arm tightly. "Someone seems terribly upset."

"Goddammit, Calliope. This is important. You can make your little toy wait."

Calliope's pout always used to soften Max's edges, but it did nothing now. "Fine, fine. You have my attention now. What is it?"

"Eames is going to be a problem."

He snorted in response, unable to help himself. Max looked irritated, and Eames shook his head in amusement. "Darling, Eames is easy to mold. Just give it time."

"No, it's not going to work, I'm telling you..."

Eames frowned as they were in a blind alley between two buildings, no windows present on either side of them. "What's the problem, then?"

"He was fucking with me in a dream."

Laughing, Eames shook his head again. "Don't tell me there are _others_ besides me you work with? Hm? Did you ever think of that? Some job you did being so fucking pissed off at you that they're messing about with your head? Honestly, Max. _Eames?_ He thinks the world of you, you know."

Max's features smoothed out. "Oh. _Oh._ Christ, Calliope. I should have thought of that first. Between the London job and the one in Sarajevo..."

Eames crossed his arms over his chest. "Uh huh. And knowing you, you've got your fingers in every pie around these parts."

"Not hardly," Max replied easily enough. Eames could tell he was thinking of the other cells for certain, tracking them in his head.

"You're being entirely too modest. That's not like you at _all."_

"This is important, Calliope. He can't fuck up my plans."

"Are you still on that? So what is it now? What do you think he'll fuck up? Really, now," Eames said in Calliope's most annoyed tones, rolling his eyes for emphasis.

"Your guy needs to get the info on Milton that Eames has, just to be certain we've covered up all of our tracks at MI6. I've wiped our records, but Milton's going to have a paper trail I can't get rid of right away. Not to mention the contacts Eames made in England and the US. The man collects people willing to work with him. A list like that is invaluable."

Pinching Max's cheek with more affection than he felt, Eames forced Calliope's flirtatious smile onto his face. "Darling, I love it when you get so goddamn mercenary."

Max brushed his hand away dismissively. "Shut up. I'm not fucking around on my wife, got it? Those days are over. Besides, I thought Milton was enough for you."

"He's not here, is he?"

"Bitch," Max said without heat. "Go get one of the men to scratch that itch."

"They're all boring and useless. Unless you have someone new for me to play with?"

Snorting, Max shook his head. He paused suddenly, seeing things almost shimmer out of the corner of his eye. "What the—"

Eames slammed Max on the back of his head with a brick that he palmed out of the crumbling wall. His forgery had slipped a little with his rising rage, and he couldn't hold Calliope's form in front of his own any longer. He watched Max crumple to the ground dispassionately.

Just in case the safe wasn't as full as he hoped it would be, he was planning to resort to some old fashioned wetwork.

***

Max slowly came to in a dingy room that appeared to be nothing but exposed brick and metal shelving bracketed into the wall. He was bound to a metal chair, ropes tight around his wrists and ankles, and he could hear the faint sound of water dripping somewhere in the room. He tugged at the ropes experimentally, but they was no give whatsoever, and it did nothing but chafe at his wrists painfully. Lifting his head up, he looked around the room as far as he could see. On the shelves were various power tools, a crowbar, more rope, a metal box and one cardboard box with no markings on the visible sides.

More ominously, the metal chair he was sitting in was lying over a very large tarp.

He swallowed slowly, forcing himself to calm down. He'd done this before. Years ago, when out in the field and MI6 hadn't wanted to know how he got the information he got. He and Calliope had used _extreme negotiating tactics,_ as he had called it on the official paperwork, and there had been a horrific mess afterward. Calliope had been so frustrated that she had simply stripped off whatever she had been wearing, grabbed a coat to cover herself and torched the hovel they had been working in. She had a taste for this sort of thing, and it had turned off their partner at the time. When he asked to be reassigned, Eames had been assigned to their team.

The door opened to his right, and he looked up. There was a single man there, a white porcelain mask strapped to his face to cover his features, as well as a hoodie to mask any other identifying features such as hair color. Perhaps Max might live after all.

The masked figure backhanded him roughly, not saying a word. "The fuck?" Max said, feeling blood on his lip.

"You will tell me who you're working with," the masked figure said. His voice sounded almost like Essman's, which made no sense because the man was dead.

"What are you on about? You can't just drag me down here to kick the shit out of me."

"Of course I can. You don't exist." Essman's voice was eerily calm, and the man merely held his hands loose at his sides. He wore thin leather gloves, more to cover his hands from getting dirty than to protect him from nonexistent cold. "There are cells in Mozambique and Zaire. You will tell me who's in them."

"Fuck you."

"Wrong answer."

Max couldn't dodge the punch to his mouth, and his top lip split over his teeth. There was the distinct feel of metal beneath the leather gloves, as if brass knuckles had been built into them. It made no sense, but that was what it felt like. He willed his mind blank, so that he couldn't feel the pain from his split lip, couldn't taste the blood on his tongue.

The masked figure stood up. "Tell me who's in the cells."

Max glared at him. "This is bullshit. You don't know anything."

"Oh, I have it on good authority that you know everything," Essman's voice said. "After all, you're the one that moves people about like chess pieces."

"I'm a private citizen. I have no idea what you're on about."

"We'll see."

Coldly, clinically, the masked figure laid into Max with his covered fists. Other than his split lip, it wasn't enough to make him bleed, but was calculated to make him hurt without tipping him over the edge into unconsciousness. He was good, and Max had to work at keeping his sense of calm about himself. A thread of panic filled him when the man decided to move to the power tools after his repeated cries of innocence. He held the drill in one hand and long metal screws in the other. Max could feel sweat dripping down his spine, and he suddenly knew what the tarp was for. He and Calliope had done the same thing twelve years ago.

Metal being drilled down through bone _hurt_ , and there was the whining sound of the drill as well as the smell of blood and burning bone wafting up to his nostrils. Max gagged; he'd never liked this smell, never been able to stand it. He screamed, unable to help it, even as he knew it was coming, writhing in place on the chair.

"Perhaps this jogs your memory?" Essman's voice asked in placid tones.

"Goddamn psychopath!" Max screamed, the taste of coppery blood and burnt bone in his mouth. Fuck, he'd never be able to get it out of his nose or mouth now. It was everywhere, and he kept convulsively swallowing to keep his gorge down.

The masked figure laughed, and Max couldn't help but feel that it was familiar somehow. He knew that bitter tone, knew the cadence of it. The pain was making it hard to think, and there was more energy taken up in keeping his wits about him right now. It didn't matter why this laughter was so familiar. He was using Essman's voice, after all. There was no possible way Essman could still be alive; body parts had been found after the blast, and this man was intact. He was simply copying Essman's voice, possibly in the hopes of unsettling Max. He'd never liked Essman, so it didn't bother him in the slightest that he was dead. Good riddance.

Max nearly whimpered when he saw the man turn and reach for the hammer. "You don't know the half of it," he told Max in a gravelly voice. It wasn't Essman's any longer, and there was a measure of rage in that tone that told Max this was personal, not just about the sleeper cell information. "I am what you helped to make."

Then the hammer swung down on top of the screws, sending the reverberations throughout the bone and causing more blood to flow.

Sobbing, Max pulled at the ropes. The grating pain against his wrists was nothing compared to the pain in his legs, but it served as a distraction. He focused on the pain in his wrists, and he swallowed down snot and blood and tears. "You're not even trying to ask me anything anymore," he sobbed. "You don't even care, do you?"

"You know what I want," he said, voice dark and pitiless. "I want names and places, targets and who you've set them working for. I want it all."

"Fucker, I can't—"

"You know how it goes, Max. You've always known this could happen." He toyed with the hammer idly, then let it fall over the screws again. Max shrieked, head falling back slightly as he struggled not to pass out. The masked man leaned forward, watching as Max blearily looked at him through a haze of pain. "You know how to make this stop."

Those blue eyes were familiar. He couldn't place them right now, but they were familiar and they looked at him with such loathing that it took his breath away.

"I want those names. I want the places where they're located. I want it all, Max. I'm going to get it. It's just a matter of _when."_

The hammer swung down again, and Max pulled at his wrists and kicked ineffectually as he screamed. He gasped for air when the masked man stepped backward, but could only stare incredulously when he reached for the screws and drill again.

"There were five cells, weren't there?" the masked man commented idly. "Three more screws to go. Where shall I place them...?"

"I can't give you what I don't know," Max insisted, even though he knew it wouldn't work.

"You know," he said, kneeling beside the chair. He pressed the edge of a screw against Max's leg, just beneath his patella. "I think here ought to be a good spot."

"For God's sake! Just stop!"

"Did you stop for the others? You've done this before, Max. Isn't it familiar?" Now the voice was mocking him, blue eyes looking up at him with a ferocity that Max _knew_ he'd seen before somewhere. "You know how to make this stop, Max. It's easy. I'll even tell you where to start, hm? Start with Mozambique. Tell me about those."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Max tried again.

"Let's not insult my intelligence, yes? I might have been blind for a long time, but I see you for what you are now. Let's not do that kind of dance again."

"That makes no goddamn sense," Max snarled. "I don't know what you think you've got against me. I swear I didn't do it, whatever it was."

Those blue eyes hardened and looked like little more than ice chips. "This is a very good spot, then," he said, voice clipped and flat as he lined up the drill against the leg.

Max screamed until his voice gave out, but he managed to find it again when the second screw was drilled into his other leg. He whimpered when the fifth screw was pulled off of a shelf, and he looked up with bleary eyes. "I can't give you what you want."

"Of course you can. Besides, do you really think any of them would suffer this much for you?"

They wouldn't, he knew that. He commanded the cells out of fear and not respect. Calliope and Milton would never go through this for his sake either.

But if he gave up the information, he was useless. There would be no point in keeping him alive any longer. As painful as this was, he was still alive. The masked man wouldn't kill him yet.

"Are there five? I'm pretty sure there are five other cells than the one in Mombasa."

There were six, but he wasn't about to mention that. Not if it would simply lead to further fixations to the metal chair.

"Oh, I'm wrong, then?" he asked in a light tone. Max must have flinched. "More? Oh, Max. You have been a busy, busy boy." He took out another screw. "Was it six, then? Or seven? Or eight?" He took out a screw with each number, holding them in his hand. The drill was in his other. "Shall I keep going? I'm sure we can space this out enough along your legs."

"Six," Max gasped, afraid of the long metal screws. His voice was raw from screaming, and his head hung down low. He felt exhausted, unable to keep his head up to look at the masked man.

"Well, now." There was a clunking sound as everything was put down on a metal shelf. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" He came to sit on his haunches in front of Max, balanced carefully on the toes of his boots. "Since you've been honest, I'll be merciful. I'll spare you the next two screws, hm? That sounds fair."

That voice was familiar, but Max couldn't place it. His voice kept changing, his accents flowing in and out of each other. It was dizzying to keep track of, and Max was struggling just to stay conscious. If he slipped under, the pain would stop for a time, but then the masked man might do something horrendous just to wake him up.

Lord knew how many times he had done just that twelve years ago.

"Tell me about those six cells. Tell me what I want to know."

"You'll kill me," Max gasped.

"Oh, I'll kill you either way. The question is how. Do we draw it out? Do I make you beg for death? Do I make you wish you'd never thought of this idea? Or shall I be swift and merciful? Or maybe I'll let you sink down into a dream as you die. Maybe I'll let you live out a life with your little wife and child, give you the peace you never gave your victims."

Max picked his head up enough to look into those blue eyes. They were familiar, and they knew entirely too much about him. "I do know you, don't I?" he asked quietly.

Eames removed the hood and mask and watched Max's bloodshot eyes widen. "You thought you did. Just like I thought I knew you."

"Eames..."

"Tell me what I want to know, Max. I can afford to be kind if you do. Kinder than the turn you've given me."

"I was saving you..."

"Spare the bullshit, eh?" Eames rose to his feet and went to the shelves. "I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way after all."

"Eames, don't. For God's sake, Eames. You know me. You're my friend."

"I was a contact, wasn't I? An information dumping ground." He lifted jumper cables out of the unmarked cardboard box, as well as a car battery.

"Don't do this. I swear to you, I've always been telling you the truth."

"Funny how things change, don't they?" he asked, holding the jumper cables in front of him, his eyes blank and hard. "You've always known how things go. There's only so long that people stay asleep in this game. Once they wake up, they really and truly wake. You can't put them back to sleep again, can't cover it up with smiles or jokes."

Max knew what the jumper cables were for. He had told Eames about that trick himself, had laughed when Eames had been disgusted. Tears slipped out of his eyes, and he hung his head again. "You _are_ a friend, Eames."

"Odd thing, then, your kind of friendship. But that's all right. I know how it works now. Are you going to tell me what I want to know?"

"Why are you doing this? MI6 won't touch you now. The Yard would never do something like this. It's not their way. It's not _your_ way." Max looked up with a pleading expression. "That's all it ever was about, Eames. I swear it. It was only about keeping you safe. It was only about keeping you away from the Dream Killer."

Eames' smile was mirthless, and Max was disconcerted at the sight of it. "Tell me about those six cells, Max. We don't have to go this route, do we?"

"You don't know what you're asking," Max pleaded. "You've got to leave it be. They're not about you, it's got nothing to do with you."

"They put me under to data mine my subconscious. They weeded through my memories like so much trash, nearly killed me and made my old life meaningless. You were selling me to the highest bidder, pimping out my mind in the name of friendship. It's got _everything_ to do with me, Max." He put the end of one jumper cable to the screw in Max's thigh. "So you tell me now, Max. How far are you willing to protect them? How far are you willing to go?"

"How far are you?" he challenged, jaw thrust out.

Eames bared his teeth and touched the edge of the jumper cable to the car battery. "I guess we're both going to find out."

***  
***


	21. Saying Goodbye

"You don't look so good."

Eames looked up at Ariadne's concerned face, his expression drawn and tired. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She sat down next to him on the bed and leaned against him. He put an arm around her shoulders with a soft sigh, and she patted his thigh. "How bad did it get?"

"Inhuman," he admitted quietly.

"Our lists are the same." She threaded her fingers through his other hand. "The question is, do you trust it?"

"How can you stand to touch me?" Eames asked, looking down at their twined fingers. "Why aren't you repulsed by what I've done?"

They had searched for him in the dream after a while. It hadn't been difficult, as the dream version of Old Town Mombasa had been fairly empty. Ariadne had constructed some figures that looked like people, but for the most part it had been an empty town; all of Max's projections were kept outside in the maze.

Also, Eames had been torturing Max. When they were close, all they had to do was follow the screams. Arthur had merely sighed at the sight of Max's twisted body on the chair, the clotted blood on the tarp beneath it. He had blocked Ariadne's view despite her protests, and ultimately locked her out. Eames had looked up at the sound of the lock, his face blank and his eyes empty, covered in blood and bits of gore. "I have a list to compare with yours," he had said, voice flat.

Ariadne hadn't seen him like that, he reminded himself. She really didn't know what he had done, though she could probably guess.

"I caught a glimpse," she said quietly. "Before Arthur locked me out. What I saw didn't look too different from what I did to Bruss."

Just the thought of Ariadne standing in a pool of blood made Eames sick. "I don't want you see me this way," he whispered. "I don't want you doing what I did."

She brought his hand up to her lips to kiss his knuckles. They were still raw from his earlier vicious scrubbing. "I did it first. Maybe not in the real world, but in dreams, I did this before you did. I know how it feels. I also know it's not _you."_

"It can be. It's there. It's part of me, somewhere deep down." Eames swung his blue eyes toward hers, panic in his gaze. "I can't have you hating me for it."

"I don't hate you," she said, running her lower lip across his fingers gently. "I love you, Eames," she said softly. "I have the same kind of hate, too. So does Arthur. We _know,_ Eames. We know what this is like, what you're feeling now. Of anyone, we know exactly how you're feeling right now. We know why."

"How do you stand it?"

Ariadne twisted slightly in his embrace to press her lips against his jaw. "This isn't who I am. It doesn't define me. It's what I do because no one else will. No one else can stop it. That's what this is for. Stopping it before it gets worse."

"Six cells," Eames said softly. "I never saw that coming."

"You could have taken us in with you. You didn't have to do that alone."

"I had to," he disagreed. "I had to know. It had to be me, not someone else. You don't know him like I do. You wouldn't have been able to tell when he was lying. But yeah, maybe I shouldn't have been alone for all of it."

Ariadne pulled him down for a kiss. "Do you think you're done?"

Eames let out a shaky breath. "Yes, I think I am. Arthur can do whatever it is that he does. I can't... It's one thing to be so inhuman in a dream. I can at least lie to myself that way. I'm not ready... I can't do this in real life."

"Then don't. We'll do it." She wrapped her arms around him. "He doesn't have to hurt, you know. Most of the time they ask for death at the end because they can't bear to see the pain they've put others through. But it's not because we're needlessly cruel."

"Not like me, you mean."

"No. You're not thoughtless about it. You give a shit, Eames. You _care._ You wouldn't be questioning this if you didn't care, if you didn't still feel human. You're not _broken,_ you're just hurt." She grasped his face in her hands and kissed him thoroughly on the mouth. "We couldn't love you if were a monster."

"Most people would think I am one. Or Arthur is. Or you've become one."

"Most people wouldn't understand why this has to be done."

Eames sighed, and looked up as Arthur came into the bedroom. He averted his eyes after a moment, almost afraid that he would be as spattered in blood as he had been in the dream. It made no sense, and he really knew better, but he couldn't help it.

"He's asleep," Arthur said unnecessarily. "I put him under with sedation in the PASIV. I have no idea what he's dreaming now, but he's dreaming about something." He sat down on the edge of the bed gracefully on Eames' other side. "We can keep him under indefinitely, if that's what you want to do."

"I didn't think I could do this," Eames told him, clutching Ariadne tightly. His breath was shaky, and he couldn't look at Arthur. "He was my friend for ten years. I didn't think I could cut him up like that. Or treat him the way he did those terrorists all those years ago. I didn't feel anything about it after a while. Like I was numb. Or he stopped mattering."

Arthur slid his hand along Eames' back reassuringly. "You'll be all right with us, Eames."

"Would you be all right with me?" he asked slowly, turning to face Arthur.

"Of course." He let his hand slide along the back of Eames' neck. "You wouldn't be sitting here calmly if we couldn't trust you."

Eames' lip curled in a snarl and he whirled around to face Ariadne. He shoved his hand around her throat and pushed her onto her back on the bed, shifting to hover over her sprawled form. "Can you really trust me? I've tortured a friend for hours and hours, how do you know I won't do the same to you?"

Ariadne had been startled by his sudden movement, but didn't resist him. She lay there beneath him, eyes wide. She made no move to get out of his grasp, and his hand was tight around her throat even though he wasn't squeezing it. Arthur merely watched him, waiting to see what he would do next. "You won't," she told Eames quietly. "Because you know you can trust me. I would never hurt you that way. I would never undermine everything you believe that way."

He pulled his hand away from her throat and let his head drop so that his forehead touched hers. Taking in a shuddering breath, he shook his head. "I don't know what to do next."

Arthur touched Eames' shoulder gently, leaning in close. "Do you want to say goodbye?"

Startled, Eames pulled back and got off the bed entirely. "What are you talking about?"

"Unless you don't want me to kill him after all?" Arthur continued in that same even tone. He tilted his head to the side, contemplating Eames. "It'll be tricky, of course, but we can manage it if you want that."

Scrubbing his face tiredly with the heel of his hands, Eames shook his head. "We can't let him live. He's too dangerous left alive. Even if we get rid of the six cells he created, he can always create more. It would be too much of a risk."

"Do you want to say goodbye?" Arthur repeated calmly, no inflection in his tone. It didn't matter to him either way, but he knew it would matter to Eames.

He was touched, and felt that perhaps this was a pretty fucked up way to be expressing affection for one another. He was shaking his head, and sat down beside Arthur. "No. I've already said goodbye to him. There's no point in going back in, just to yell at him again. He said he only wanted to keep me safe, but he did a damn good job of using me at the same time. I can't... I won't put myself through that again. I'm done." He looked up at Arthur's stoic expression. "I'm finished with him."

Arthur nodded. "I'll talk to him a bit, and then I'll need your help moving him. I won't do it here, so you won't have to worry about that." He flicked his gaze to Ariadne. "You'll stay here with him while I work, then?"

Ariadne nodded, wrapping her arms around Eames. He leaned into her embrace, almost deflated. He had a weary expression. "We'll probably just sleep."

"It's been a long day," Arthur agreed. He leaned forward and kissed Eames softly on the lips before standing up. "You're tired. It's all right. I'll take care of everything."

Eames caught his hand tightly before he turned to leave. "Thank you, Arthur."

He nodded softly. "Rest. It'll all be over soon."

Arthur quietly closed the bedroom door behind him, then went into the living room where Max was still lying on the floor, hooked into the PASIV. With brisk efficiency, Arthur readied another line and joined him in the dream.

He was in the middle of a bustling city, which looked a little bit like Athens with some elements of Moscow thrown in. Max had never really been much about architecture according to his profile; he had been doing wetworks and extraction in his former occupations, as well as point man. His hacking skills were excellent, so point man and fencing had sustained him for the past seven years. He certainly hadn't been lacking in contacts or cash. Some friendly feeling toward Eames had existed, certainly, but Max hadn't been above using the friendship to gather a little extra payout.

Arthur could understand it. For Eames' sake, he couldn't excuse it.

Max was sitting in an outdoor café, looking around at everything as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. On some level he knew none of this was real, but he didn't understand why he was caught in a dream like this. He was startled to see Arthur striding toward him purposefully, eyes sharp and fixed on him. Arthur knew that he always looked fearsome and intense when he had his game face on. It had been remarked upon since the first victim he had killed. That bastard had never gotten onto Interpol's lists, and it had been sheer luck at the time that it had even happened without anyone catching onto Arthur's culpability. He had been only eighteen at the time, but he had refined his technique since then.

Frighteningly enough, Ariadne and Eames were the best things that had ever happened to him.

Arthur slid into a seat across from Max. "Hello," he said in even tones. "I've been waiting a long time for this conversation to happen."

"What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"My name is Arthur," he began slowly. "I'm sure you know of me as one of the consultants that AD Saito makes use of at the J. Edgar Hoover Building." He smiled thinly at Max's nod of recognition. "There's a less flattering moniker that the law enforcement agencies have for me. I do believe you know that one as well."

Max frowned at Arthur and watched as he dreamt up a cup of coffee in front of him. "What are you on about?"

"You've known Eames a long time," Arthur replied instead of answering. He sipped at the coffee and watched Max try to follow his line of thought.

"We've been mates over ten years now."

"You should know him pretty well, then, hm?"

"Why are you talking to me?" Max narrowed his eyes at Arthur. "Where are we?"

"No idea," Arthur said with a shrug. "You created this place." He smiled thinly as Max realized what Arthur meant. This was Max's dream, which made Arthur the subject. As soon as he entered the dream, all of the projections in it became his. As one, they all turned and stared at Max, their glassy eyes chilling to see.

Max let out a breath, shaking his head, and the projections went back to doing what they were doing. Arthur had tight control of his projections, and he was able to let them loose when he wanted them free. "You've managed to somehow capture me and put me under. Congratulations, I suppose. Can't say people normally get the drop on me like that."

"Oh, I had help. I wouldn't have known to go after you otherwise." Arthur's eyes glittered almost dangerously, making Max freeze in place. "You don't fit my profile, after all, and no one has ever known to lodge a complaint about you."

"You..."

"Me." Arthur remained in place as Max tried to lunge across the table. A diner at the next table in the café grabbed him before he could do so, however, and pulled him back into his seat. "Please. Sit. Enjoy the talk. Most don't get this opportunity, you realize. Most plead with me to end it all, and I'm more than happy to oblige them."

"You fucking bastard," Max hissed. "What have you done with Eames? I won't let you kill him, asshole. There are plans..."

"Yes. There were. You nearly killed him with your goddamn plans," Arthur snarled, the vicious tone silencing Max. "I had to force fluids and pills down his throat to save his life. I had to keep vigil, hoping he wasn't part of the twenty percent of victims that died of the side effects of Milton's little protocol." His eyes glittered dangerously. "You thought you wanted to save him from me, but all you did was drive him right to me. If not for you, he would have been kept far away from me, doing whatever he was doing. Instead, he's with me."

Max's eyes narrowed at Arthur. "What have you done with him?"

Arthur smirked, somehow knowing that _fucked him senseless_ probably wasn't an answer that Max would appreciate. "He's fine, Max. Surprisingly so, given how badly you've destroyed his trust in you."

Max pulled his arms away from the diners holding him in place; Arthur allowed it for the moment, though all of the projections in the café were still staring at him. "I've put this in motion to protect him from you, asshole."

"He was never in danger from me." Arthur leaned back in his chair, an arm thrown over the back of it. This lounging pose tended to piss people off; he looked much too self assured, as if he was taunting whoever he was speaking with. He knew what he was doing, and seeing Max look so self righteous was making him angry.

"That's utter shite. That agent you killed—"

"Ariadne left the FBI," Arthur said sharply, cutting off Max. "She's with me. Eames knew that, and it wasn't his secret to tell. She was in no danger whatsoever."

"No," Max said, shaking his head. "Eames would have still told me something about that if it was true. You're lying to me."

"You've seen her in your head. She's not a projection of yours." Arthur smiled thinly at his discomfort. "You're simply not as good as you think you are."

Max shot to his feet. "You're just fucking with me, whoever you are."

"Sit down," Arthur told him, voice icy. Max thrust out his lower jaw in sheer stubbornness, and the projections pulled him down into a seated position again. "Eames has already said goodbye to you. I thought you should know that."

Max narrowed his eyes at Arthur. "Bullshit. If you are who you say you are, he would never let this happen. He'll stop you."

"Not after what you did. You arranged to have his mind raped, his will taken away from him and his future unravel without his consent." Arthur glared at Max. "For someone who's known him as long as you have, you should have known he'd never want that. He'd rather die first."

Max's lip curled in derision. "You don't know him at all, then. He's a survivor."

"Oh, yes," Arthur agreed. "I doubt he could have gotten over that neuroleptic malignant syndrome otherwise." He pulled his arm back from over the chair and sat up. "But you don't understand him as well as you think you do. He's a survivor, but there are limits to what he's willing to do. Eames has scruples, and has always been loyal to a fault."

"Who are you to say what he will or won't do?" Max asked sharply. "I've known him for years now. I daresay I can predict what he'd do better than you."

"Did you predict his reaction to your little plot to take his choices away from him?" Arthur asked coldly, jaw set. "Could you have guessed the sense of betrayal that came from that?"

"He'd've gotten over it," Max said dismissively, waving his hand. "He knows what the real world is all about. He'd've understood it in time. The important thing is that he survives. The rest would take care of itself."

"Doing it that way," Arthur began, voice harsh and clipped, "meant you've undermined everything he had ever known or trusted in you. You didn't care enough about what he wanted, only what you wanted."

"Who are you to judge, then?" Max asked. A projection got up abruptly and pushed past his chair, jarring him slightly. "Oi! The hell?"

"He's already said goodbye," Arthur told him evenly. "He didn't feel the need to come under with me to say goodbye again. He's done."

"Bloody bastard," Max replied, eyes narrowing. "What've you done with him?"

"What you couldn't," Arthur said shortly. "I trusted his judgment."

The silence hung between them for a moment, and Max looked away first. "So now what?"

"Not going to fight it any longer?" Arthur asked, the edge of a taunt in his voice. "Not going to try and tell me I've got it wrong?"

Both of them knew that Arthur knew too many details to be wrong. Max had just wanted to resist the knowledge that he was on borrowed time.

"What do you want from me, then?" Max asked, voice harsh. "Just fucking with me, are you?"

"You broke him," Arthur said, no inflection in his tone. "You might not have meant to do it, but you did it just the same. I honestly think if not for me and Ariadne, he'd kill himself." Max flinched at the quiet words. "I wanted you to know that."

"That's not what was supposed to happen," Max began, shaking his head. "You have to believe that. He was supposed to be fine."

"You used him. You treated him like a goddamn subject instead of a friend. Why did you think that would be okay with him?"

Max shook his head. "He would have forgiven me in time. That's the important thing."

"He can't forgive that," Arthur told him quietly. "Something like that is inexcusable."

"I just wanted him safe."

"He always was safe from me. Now he'll always be safe from you."

Max looked up with bleary eyes. "Now what?"

"For his sake, I'm going to be kind to you."

"Oh?"

"You'll be sedated. You won't feel a thing." Arthur finished his coffee and smiled at Max. It was a sharp, edged thing, a smile that made Max want to cringe. "It will be over quickly. It's a kinder death than he would have gotten."

"You're so certain you can kill me."

"He hasn't stopped me," Arthur told him evenly. "He only asked not to watch."

The words killed the last thread of hope Max hadn't realized he had been holding onto. "Oh."

"You've been asleep since you got to the apartment. Everything since then has all been a dream for you. Eames handled all of the work himself. He insisted."

Max flinched and looked away.

Arthur nodded sharply at him and stood up. He paused for a moment, contemplating the figure in front of him. He had been Eames' friend once, and that had to mean something still. "I'll take care of him, Max. You can be sure of that. He's never going back to Scotland Yard or MI6. I give you my word that he'll be safe."

He looked up and took in the certainty in Arthur's expression. "Why?"

"He's like me now," Arthur said with a shrug. "And I love him. Why wouldn't I?"

Max let out a breath. "You won't go after my wife or child, will you?"

"That's not how I operate. How _we_ operate," Arthur corrected.

Catching that, Max looked up. "He's agreeing to help you now? When he used to try to catch you?" He shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"Like I said, Max. You drove him to me. He would have had his regular life if you hadn't interfered, but now he belongs to me and Ariadne. He's like us now." Arthur reached into his jacket for the holster he always dreamed there. Max's expression never changed when he saw the Glock in Arthur's hand. "You've helped turn him into a ghost, Max. You've killed the last of who he used to be. But we'll bring him back. We'll protect him and keep him safe, and he's going to come back as something new."

"Something like you, then?"

Arthur nodded and smiled as he pressed the Glock against his head. "Yes. If anything, what you've done has only convinced him why it has to be done. He sees both sides of it now, and he knows there's a place for us."

"Judge, jury and executioner?" Max asked, voice arch.

"Until it exists in the real world, yes. That's exactly what we are. Goodbye, Max."

Max nodded, accepting the finality in Arthur's tone. He didn't even flinch when Arthur pulled the trigger to wake up, fading in the blink of an eye.

The other patrons at the café were his own projections again, their appearances shifting slightly to indicate the change. He was alone in his own mind.

He didn't know how much dream time he had left before Arthur killed him. Eames wouldn't come in to see him, so there was no way to offer an apology. Max wouldn't mean it anyway; he was only sorry things had turned out this way. He still thought this was the best for Eames. He wouldn't be subject to MI6 or the whims of Scotland Yard anymore. Whatever else he did with his life, he would be free.

Turning his head, he looked for his wife. At least he would be able to say goodbye to her in his own mind, even if he couldn't do so in real life.

***  
***


	22. Resurrection Of The Dead

Eames tumbled into bed after helping Arthur drag Max down a back staircase in the apartment building and into the rented car. He didn't ask what Arthur and Max talked about, and Arthur didn't offer any details. He held Arthur's gaze for a while, not bothering to look at Max's sedated form in the passenger seat. He thought about telling Arthur to be safe, or that he would still be there when Arthur got back. Ultimately, he did neither, but just nodded at him and shut the car door for him. When Arthur left the apartment building's garage, he went upstairs to the apartment and tumbled into bed beside Ariadne. He was tired, but too exhausted to sleep.

Ariadne curled up against his side, her head resting on his chest. He tucked his left arm around her, sighing as she rubbed his chest and stomach through his T shirt. "Any second thoughts?" she asked softly.

"No." He stared at the ceiling glumly. "I wonder if I should."

"What would you regret?" There was no censure in her tone at all, just a gentle curiosity. He had always liked that about her. Nothing he ever said seemed to bother her.

"You say this doesn't change me..."

Ariadne shifted position slightly so she could tilt her head up and kiss the underside of his stubbled jaw. "Not how it counts, but this does change things. You're still you. The things that matter to you still matter. The situation's different. Your options are different. But that doesn't mean _you_ are different. Does that make sense?"

He turned and looked at her serious face. "Does it get easier?"

"This was different. You knew him. This was personal." Ariadne rested her chin on his chest. "I had a tough time with it. I still get nervous and feel strange."

"How many?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. He had deliberately avoided Interpol's attempts to track the Dream Killer victims.

"Three after Bruss. It gets easier in the sense that I don't become physically ill, but sometimes I wonder about that. If I feel good afterward, if I'm glad that someone's dead, does that change me too much? Does it make me a monster?" She smiled at Eames' start of surprise. "Yeah. I have the same questions, too. That's why I said we understand this. It's the same thing for us."

"He seems so calm about it."

"Experience. And not having anyone he could trust before I came along. This isn't exactly dinner conversation. It's isolating and painful, Eames. That part doesn't change."

"So how do you cope?"

"Same way I used to after tough cases in DC. I tell myself why I'm doing it. I think of the victims, of the ones that suffered. It won't happen again. There was a purpose for what I did, in the grand scheme of things."

"The end justifies the means?"

"Sort of." Ariadne slid her hand beneath the edge of his shirt. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, you know. You could leave tomorrow if it made you happy."

"You know I wouldn't do that," Eames said softly, stroking her hair.

"Yes, but the option is there. It's knowing you _can,_ even if you don't want to." Ariadne smiled softly at Eames. "I don't want all this to be simply an obligation to you. That you feel like you owe us for saving your life."

"It's not that," Eames murmured softly. "I love you both. I need to stay with you because of that."

"Well, good. We want you to stay." She grinned at him. "That hasn't changed, not really."

"Not really?"

"Well... This," Ariadne began, curling her fingers against Eames' skin. "Being together like this. That's new. I didn't expect this. I didn't expect to want this. I don't think Arthur did either. But it works." She bit her lip and seemed almost uncertain. "I don't want this part to stop. The other stuff, you don't have to do that just because you're with us. That's what I meant when I said you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Eames reached up and rubbed her lips with his thumb. "I'm like you now, like Arthur. You've both said that. How many options does that leave me?"

"But you have them," Ariadne told him. "You'll always have them. It's not an obligation. It's not something we'd ever pressure you into choosing. If you want to walk away from that part, you can. You don't ever have to know about it or see it or participate. You get to choose. We don't want to make you do anything."

"I did choose," Eames murmured, still holding her face tenderly. "As hard as it was, I did. I chose you and Arthur. And he's out there, doing his thing..."

"That's what I mean," Ariadne interrupted. "You chose not to do that part. You chose your level of involvement. That won't change while you stay with us."

"And what I meant is that I'm choosing to stay. To do all of it with you, if I can," Eames told her quietly. "I'm not... I can't let it go. What happened with Max... It's like everyone else that Arthur's ever killed. I can't sit back and pretend I don't see it anymore, and I can't let those people abuse their power." He looked into her accepting eyes and sighed. "I understand now, what you were trying to tell me in DC. I have to help."

"Eames..."

"Not out of obligation to you, not like that. Because I _can_ do something about it. Because I have a skill set that is dead useful in that sort of thing. Because I can't just sit back and watch it happen over and over and do nothing. I'm not that sort."

Ariadne's smile was loving and gentle. "No, you're not."

"So sorry, you're stuck with me."

"I can think of worse things that could have happened," she replied, that smile still on her face.

"Yeah, I guess we all can," Eames said softly. He ran his hand along her back, rubbing her spine gently. "I'm glad I didn't die. This hurts, but it's better than the dream I had."

"Really?"

"This is real, Ariadne. I'll take all the horrible disappointment that came before because this is _real._ I'd take that over any pretty lie Max would have told me."

Ariadne contemplated him for a moment. "So what do we do next?"

"There are those six cells..."

"We probably can't do it all on our own. We'll need some help."

"Not to mention the woman in South Florida," Eames reminded her.

With a soft sigh, Ariadne looked at him. "You're sure it's not too soon?"

He let out a breath. She wasn't coddling him, but if he took every out she gave him, he would never know just how much he could take. He knew if Arthur were there, he would simply look at him evenly, waiting for his decision. He would accept it as long as Eames wasn't being stupid or hurtful, and he would trust that Eames could control himself.

It was good to know that they were looking out for him, each in their own ways.

"I'm sure," Eames said. He leaned down and kissed her softly. "C'mon. We need sleep."

Ariadne nodded and curled around him, snuggling close to his warmth. Eames held her close and smiled at the happy little humming sound she made as she settled her ear over his heart. He never would have dreamt of something like this happening two months ago. He had nothing to look forward to but work and occasionally meeting up with friends.

Yes, this new life of his could be painful and dangerous. But it was real, and he felt more alive now than he had two months ago. It was just as well his old life was over. He didn't want it back.

***

Eames woke in the middle of the night when the front door to the apartment was shut. Ariadne was sprawled over him, and she made a soft noise when he shifted her over slightly and sat up, but she didn't wake. He managed to get out of bed slowly, but that did wake her. "Hrm?"

"I think Arthur's back," he told her. "You can go back to sleep."

"What time izzit?" she muttered, sitting up to rub at her eyes.

"Time for everyone to get back to bed," Arthur replied, coming into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"S'alright," Ariadne murmured, smiling sleepily at him. "Okay?"

"Yeah. It was quick and quiet when it happened," Arthur told Eames. "It took more time finding an isolated enough location." He sat down on the bed to pull off his shoes, and Eames could see the mud on them. Arthur smiled ruefully at Eames' pointed stare. "The nature preserve. No one there this time of night, and it was definitely isolated. I'll clean up the mess in the car in the morning. The mud dried, so I didn't track anything back."

"He was asleep the whole time?"

Arthur nodded and started undressing to get into bed. "Yeah. I doubt he felt any pain."

"You didn't have to do that," Eames murmured, frowning at Arthur. It wasn't his way, and he couldn't figure out why he had done it.

"Yes, I did. He was your friend once. He thought he was doing right by you, even if he really wasn't. There was no need to let him suffer." Arthur stood and grasped Eames' shoulder, looking him in the eye. "You already had revenge. This was justice. There's no point to making people suffer if they don't have to. Right?"

Eames was relieved to hear that. "Yeah. That's absolutely right."

"Come to bed," Ariadne said, rubbing at her eyes and falling back into bed. "What time is it, anyway? It's still dark out."

"About three thirty in the morning."

 _Time for all the good little killers to get their sleep,_ Eames thought as he crawled back into bed beside Ariadne. Arthur climbed in on the other side of him, and Eames was almost surprised that he wasn't curling up next to Ariadne. She leaned over Eames to give Arthur a tender good night kiss on the lips, and then she turned her face to give him a kiss as well. He settled down between them, both of their arms twined around his torso. "So what now?" he asked quietly, more for Arthur's sake.

"Sleep," he replied with a smile, patting his chest lightly. "Worry later."

"But I mean..."

"It'll work itself out," Arthur insisted.

"There are too many cells for just us," Eames said. Ariadne sighed as she burrowed against him. "Well, there's just the three of us."

"No," Arthur said, shaking his head gently. "I own a security company, Eames. I've run it since I was eighteen. Do you know how many people I've ever had to lay off?"

"No."

"None. I found a way to keep them on, even if it's for private security for houses I'm not living in at the time. There's some of them I trust. Not with the Dream Killer stuff, but they can probably guess. They're not stupid. They're _loyal._ All I'll need to do is mention that these people tried to hurt someone I care about, and they'll step up to help."

Eames hadn't thought about Arthur's other life as an asset at all. "Oh."

He patted Eames' chest in reassurance. "It can be a few well coordinated strikes, everyone gone and cleared out. My men would be more than happy to be officially on paid vacation for a week or so to get this done. They're constantly asking me to take on more work to give them more to do than babysit houses."

"If you have so many houses, why did we wind up renting here, then?"

"Because it's different. It was somewhere new, someplace to begin again." Arthur let out a breath. "I hated that house. The one in Geneva."

Eames thought of Arthur's mother, more of a wraith than a human being. "I can understand that."

"Ariadne and I were living in Paris before this."

"It's a lovely place," Ariadne murmured. "We should go back there soon. You'll love it there."

"Yes, but it would have been odd to go there straight from Geneva," Arthur told Eames. "It's too busy, too much going on. You needed quiet, time to recuperate."

He had never thought about that, but he hadn't known any of the details. It didn't really surprise him that Arthur thought about this. "And now?"

"We can take a few more days here, let things settle a bit for you. Give you a goddamn vacation, since you've more than earned one. And Ariadne likes to tell me that everyone needs a vacation once in a while."

"That's right," she said sleepily, nodding against Eames' chest. "Otherwise, you burn out."

"Can't have that," Eames murmured.

"So we'll do touristy things. Unless you want to go somewhere else? That's okay, too."

"The woman in Florida..."

"From my files, you mean?" Arthur asked as clarification. Eames nodded. "We'll do that while my men take care of the sleeper cells. It'll be a swift coordinated strike. We won't have to worry about any of them doing further harm."

"I think I'd like to see to one myself. Maybe the Nigeria one. I've never been there," Eames said with a musing tone. "Just to tie things off neatly."

Arthur smiled at him in the dark and nodded. "We can do that, then. There are still things to do there as a tourist. Safaris, historical things. It wouldn't be too out of place to take care of a few things at once."

Ariadne's breathing had deepened, and she was more asleep than awake at that point. Eames rubbed her arm affectionately. "I'd like that. And then we can go to Florida, take care of that lead you found on the Network."

"You don't have to," Arthur told him a low tone. "If it's too soon, not what you want..."

"I want to help." Eames turned his head and looked at Arthur's concerned expression. "I'm sure, Arthur. I want to do this with you. I want us together in all things, not just in bed."

"You're stronger than you think you are," Arthur said with an admiring smile.

"Not bad for a dead man, eh?" Eames joked.

Arthur chuckled softly. "Very true. Maybe we can go visit Yusuf while we're stateside, so he can see for himself that you're all right. You've still got a number of very good friends in your corner. You're only as dead as you want to be."

"As far as the government's concerned? Very dead." He moved an arm around Arthur's shoulders from beneath his head. "This is where I need to be."

"Glad to hear you say so," Arthur said softly. "You know, I didn't think I would be, but I'm glad you're with us, Eames."

"Me, too. Who would've thought it, eh?"

Arthur chuckled. "Well, I'd always thought we might've been friends if things worked out differently than they had. I hadn't thought about being lovers."

"Kind of took me by surprise, too," Eames admitted.

"Max said that the point of the deepest dream was to give you what you wanted."

"You both are different from what I dreamed," Eames murmured. "I couldn't dream you up this way, all the imperfections and insecurity and details. It worked because I wanted it to so badly, because I wanted a place to belong. I wanted something real and steady in my life. I wanted the closeness the two of you had."

"And now you have it. You belong to us."

"Yeah. You both belong to me, too, don't you?"

"I think we do," Arthur agreed. The thought didn't bother him at all, which was almost surprising. That gaping hole that always seemed to live inside of him seemed gone, too. He hadn't noticed that one, but it was pleasant to stop feeling so hollow.

"Good. I think we've got a plan of action then."

"Glad you approve," Arthur said, a wry note in his voice. "Now get some sleep. Knowing Ariadne, we'll have a lot of hiking and museums to look at before we leave."

Eames chuckled. "She gets enthusiastic."

"Not always a bad thing. Good night, Eames."

"Good night, Arthur." Eames tilted his head and pressed his lips to the top of Ariadne's sleeping head. "And good night, darling," he murmured, smiling when she burrowed further into him.

Snug and warm in bed together, none of them dreamed. There was no need to.

The End


End file.
